Halo 3: Insurrection
by Wolverfrog49
Summary: THE STUNNING CONCLUSION to Halo 3. Humanity and the Sangheili are once again at war, and with the two factions waist deep in each others' blood, who will stand against the ancient threat looming on the horizon? One final hope remains. John-117. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_**The stunning epilogue to Halo 3. Humanity and the Elites are once again at war, and the bloodshed is fierce; both sides are evenly matched. The shattered remnants of the Covenant have fled deep within an asteroid belt, cut off from the rest of the Galaxy, content to live alone. All the meanwhile, a dark, ancient force threatens to destroy the Galaxy, but with the Humans and Elites at war, who can fight against it?**_

One man. Master Chief Petty Officer 117.

Halo 3: Insurrection, with a riveting plot, old, familiar characters; new, dynamic ones, and an underlying, divine mystery beneath it all.**  
**

**Prologue**

The Lone Sangheili plunged his sword into the human, relishing the way it slid effortlessly into the weak flesh of the inferior being.

Around him lay a multitude of Human bodies, all mutilated in some way by the burning divinity of the Energy Sword.

As he sheathed his blade, the Elite looked out at the horizon, and the setting sun in the distance.

Of course the alliance couldn't have lasted. They were fools to believe otherwise. The Humans, pitiful beings that they were, still held grudges. After several of his brothers were killed by the vengeful creatures, the High Council had decided enough was enough.

They had tried diplomacy at first, asking the Human leader Lord Hood to issue a declaration stating any marine who killed an Elite would be treated like they would if he had killed a fellow Human.

But the fool wouldn't do it, said he could sympathise with the killers of the Elite's, that it was up to them to take steps against the murderers, non violent steps of course.

R'tas Vadum, the exalted leader of their race, had attempted to reason further with Hood, and eventually resorted to threats when the Human refused to accept his terms.

Even those didn't work, and in anger, R'tas had unsheathed his sword and drove it into the guts of the traitor.

And rightly so, the Elite assured himself as he once again questioned himself if what they were doing was right.

The alliance quickly broke up there and then, angry at the loss of their leader, the Humans retaliated, and R'tas was nearly killed in the ensuing escape.

But he had escaped, and was greeted as a hero. By all except that heretic, the Arbiter.

The Elite remembered the confrontation between the two leaders well...

"How could you?" The Arbiter had shouted angrily. "After all the work that had been put in to forming this alliance, you break it with one swipe of your sword"

"I did what I must Arbiter, my honour would not allow me to let this murder carry on!"

"I'm not saying what the Humans did what right, but that's still no reason to kill one in cold blood!"

"Did the humans treat us any differently Arbiter? Slitting our throats whilst we slept, the devious infidels!"

"Be that as it may, you should have continued with diplomacy you fool!" The Arbiter had drawn his sword by then, and was snarling openly at the smaller Elite. R'tas had done likewise.

"Has that what it has come to brother? That you would be willing to kill one of your own over these humans, these worms?"

Averting his gaze to the floor, The Arbiter had sheathed his Blade.

"I cannot kill you R'tas. But I refuse to be part of this insurrection, I'm leaving."

"Arbiter, wait! We need you now more than ever, if you leave, what will that say to the rest of the Sangheili?"

"I care not" The Arbiter had said in an undertone. "For whilst you wage this petty war, I count none of you as brother."

And with that, he had boarded a Spirit drop ship, which were now in use once again after the end of the Prophet's reign, and left without looking back.

The Elite sighed, so much had happened since then. Both sides had sustained heavy losses. But it was too late to call a treaty now. Both races were waist deep in the others blood, and could not climb out.

To end this fighting, they would need a miracle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part one: Awakening**

"Chief, Chief can you hear me? Dammit John, wake up!" Cortana's voice shouted, echoing in the Master Chief's mind. He could feel the temperature getting hotter, his limbs loosening as they unfroze.

He felt that same feeling he did every time he emerged out of a cryo sleep, stiff, annoyed, and tired.

"What's the situation?" He asked, climbing out of the pod.

"We're about to crash into a planet of some kind, I just thought you should know. Anyway, it may be a good idea for us to leave. Now."

He assessed the situation, his artificially accelerated mind racing through numerous problems and solutions.

"Can you not bring the Dawn in slowly?"

"I would, but the thrusters are in bad shape. If I activated them, there's a 80% chance they could blow."

"Do we have any Pelicans, or a HEV pod?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"Nope, we're totally out, and we don't have a parachute on board either, no way getting off the ship, or what's left of it anyway."

John could feel the surge as they entered the Planet's atmosphere, and knew they had to get off now, or die.

"There's always a way" He said, walking over to the shattered edge of the broken ship.

"Please don't tell me that you're....oh, you are, excellent."

"It's the only way Cortana, besides, it went well last time; well, sort of."

"Last time? And what do you mean 'sort of'?"

"Brace yourself" He said. Two simple words, then, he jumped.

**********

The Elite approached the Zealot with no little apprehension, he was known to take his anger out on anything in the nearby vacinity when given bad news.

"Noble Zealot, my scouts have just reported seeing something in the sky, a burning comet of sorts, rushing down to the surface."

The Zealot, named Z'thanee, slowly turned his head to face the messenger.

"You interupted me for this?" Z'thanee was tired of managing the citedel he had been appointed to govern, and as a result had developed a short temper.

The smaller Elite Minor gave a noticable flinch, something which pleased Z'thanee.

"We, that is to say, I, thought it may be important, after all, the Humans use such methods to quickly deploy their troops."

The Zealot paused, and leaned forward in his gravity defying chair.

"You could be right there, for once. Take a squad of five and investigate the crash site, if you discover anything of worth, report it to me at once."

The Minor lowered his head respectfully.

"Yes, noble Zealot, it shall be done."

**********

"Aim for that body of water!" Cortana shouted, indicating on his heads up display the ocean in question.

Swerving to the side slightly, John snapped his arms to his side, and prepared himself for what would come. With a huge crash, the Spartan cut through the water and sank several dozen metres below. Luckily the water was very deep, so he avoided major injury.

He swam up to the surface, and crawled onto the rocky shore.

"See? No problem." John said, collapsing onto the floor.

He looked up into the ruby red sky. He could see no trace of the Dawn, it must have disintergrated in the atmosphere.

"So, how long was I under ice for?"

"I'd say about two months, give or take."

Two months? It wasn't as bad as he had been expecting, but it was still quite a long time.

"Any idea where the hell we are?" He asked, surveying the scenery around them. The vegetation in the area was tall, and strange birds could be seen up in the sky.

"Your guess is as good as mine. No where near Earth, but we're still in it's galaxy."

That was a relief. John had been worried they might have been sent to a dark, unknown corner at the edge of the universe.

"We'd best set up camp." John said, already snapping branches of trees to start a fire.

"Agreed, tommorow we can do some scouting around, see if this planet has any advanced life on...wait."

"What is it?" The Chief said, slowly drawing out his weapon.

He was still carrying the Spartan laser Johnson had used before his death, the one John had used to kill the Monitor. Johnson had made a few modifications on it, placing a nuclear battery inside; expensive, but effective. The laser's charge would last a long time, he could fire a hundred shots and not even waste one percent of the battery.

"I'm picking up multiple figures heading this way, odd, my sensors are showing them as Elites."

"Really? That's a relief then." John lowered his weapon, things were turning out perfectly, if Elites were here then he'd have a way to contact Earth, and Lord Hood.

"Chief, I wouldn't relax just yet, I've hacked into their com chatter and they seem to be on the offensive."

How strange, thought John, surely their HUDs would show him as human. He raised the weapon again, finger resting upon the large, black trigger of the Spartan laser.

Suddenly, six Elites burst into his small camp, all holding Covenant Energy swords, adapted from Forerunner technology.

"Demon...." One of them growled, advancing upon him in a menacing manner. John slowly backed away. He could only see five Elites now, hadn't there been six before?

"Whoa...easy there. I'm a human, we have an alliance...."

The Elites began to laugh, a deep, intimidating one.

"You have been gone a long time Demon, things have changed..."

"What the hell are you talking about? Where's the Arbiter?" John challenged, hands gripping ever tighter upon the laser.

"All will be explained shortly Demon, but for now, I grow tired of this talk." He turned to face the others. "Take him".

John didn't care if they still had an alliance or not, all he knew now was that he was in danger, and so was Cortana. His combat instincts kicked in, and he readied himself for action.

Four of the Elites charged as one, the one who had done the talking hanging back, with a sneer upon his sharp face.

The Chief held down the trigger, and the Spartan laser's end glowed a deep, vibrant red, then discarged. A beam of concentrated light hit one of them square in the chest, burning a hole through the alien flesh. With a whisper, the Elite silently fell to the ground.

The remaining ones cried out at the loss of their 'brother', and one lunged directly at John, aiming for his heart. Reacting quickly, John hit the ground and rolled away from the lunge, ending up directly behind the attacker. With a grunt, he crashed the butt of the Spartan laser into the Elites chest, puncturing the thick lungs inside. Wheezing, and crawling desperately along the ground, the Elite began to move around in circles, frantically trying to draw breath. As one final attempt to do so failed, the Elite collapsed, and moved no more.

John was confident he could win, the Elites were of a low rank, and only two, not including who he assumed to be the leader, remained. He still couldn't see the sixth Elite who had mysteriously vanished earlier though.

He charged his laser, and another beam came forth, this time burning into the side of one of the Elite's head, killing him instantly. The remaining one was backing away now, fear present on his face, and the leader's confident sneer had vanished, to be replaced by a uncertain scowl.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of an active camoflage deactivating behind him, and before he could retaliate, the strong fist of the sixth Elite hammered into the side of John's head, knocking him to the ground in a daze.

The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the sight of two Elite's rushing towards him, victory clear in their expressions.

"Welcome to Sanghelios Demon....." He heard one faintly say, then, darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Two: Trial**

When John came to, he was standing in a hall, one filled with thousands of Elites, as well as numerous Grunts and Hunters who had remained loyal to them at the time of the Great schism from the Covenant.

He turned his head, and noticed before him several Elites, towering over him. He suddenly realised he was on the floor, supported by his knees, and stood up. Noticing this, several Honour Guards rushed up to him and bashed him with the blunt end of their staves, sending plasma coursing through his body. He fell to the ground again. John was still in his Mark VI armour, evidently the Elites had been unable to find the codes needed to release the titanium plated joints.

A rough hand grasped him by the shoulder, and hoisted him up. Several metres in front of him, atop of the jewel encrusted marbled stairs were three Elites, sitting upon glowing gravity chairs.

"Demon", the one in the middle began. "You are brought before the High Council, so we can decide your fate."

There was uproar among the rest of the Elites, he heard the phrase "Kill him" used many a time.

"Silence!" The one on the right ordered. He received it in an instant. The middle one, who he assumed to be the leader, began speaking again.

"The situation here is..." He searched for the right word, "complicated."

John had held his tongue until now, but he couldn't stay silent any longer.

"What the hell is going on?" He asked.

The middle Elite sighed, he seemed to be old. John hoped he was wise too.

"Due to a multitude of events, we are once again at war with your species. We would have preferred to avoid it, but our honour demanded it."

"You never learn do you? There is nothing honourable about war, only suffering can come from it."

The one on the left spoke for the first time.

"That's rich, coming from you Demon. How long does it take you after battle to wash the blood off of your hands?"

John lowered his head. The Elite was right, despite how misguided he seemed.

"Enough please." Said the middle one. "We will get no where like this."

"Yes, Kaidon A'trinr." The left Elite spoke, he sounded bitter, envious perhaps.

"Now, even though we bear you no ill will Demon, it was not you who started this war, we cannot let you go free, you are loyal to the Humans."

"We should kill him and be done with it!" A Councillor in the crowd shouted.

"No. There is no need for that, we are civilised beings are we not?"

"More so than him..." The Elite on the left said.

"High Councillor K'zath, if you cannot keep your spiteful comments to yourself, I shall have you flayed." Spoke the Kaidon.

John had had it.

"Enough with this crap, where's the Arbiter? I thought he was in command."

The three Elites gave a visible squirm, they were obviously uneasy about the subject.

"The Arbiter chose to...travel his own path, rather than fight in the war. He is a coward." The Kaidon said.

"I think not, you and the rest of the Elites are the real cowards, you and your false sense of honour. It's no wonder the Prophets replaced you with apes, they had more guts than you." John said, provoking them. A new chorus of "kill him" broke out across the hall.

"Enough taunts Demon, my patience grows weary. There are hundreds in here who would happily rip you to pieces, and throw your mangled body of the cliff edge. However, it is not for them to decide. I have chosen to place you in a cell, you shall be treated as a guest, but you are not allowed to leave this city, and can go no where without the presence of at least fifteen guards of the highest rank."

"You can't hold me in a prison forever." John said, knowing that Cortana could disable any security system the Elites had cooked up. Speaking of which, where was she?

"I assume you mean your Construct will free you." The Kaidon began, a smug grin on his worn face. "And that she could...if she were alive, that is."

The room turned cold, and darkness crept into the room.

"What have you done to her?" John demanded, shaking with fury.

"It matters not, she was only a machine. Our Engineers destroyed her, she was too much of a risk." The Elite said hurriedly, suddenly nervous.

"You killed her?!?"

Blinded by fury, John wrenched free of the Honour Guards holding him. They raised their staves to knock him down, but with lighting reflexes, the Spartan grabbed one, turned it around, and swung it in an arc, once. Two heads toppled to the floor.

"Stop him!" Shrieked A'trinir, and several more Honour Guards entered the fray. He killed one, stabbing it in the neck, and felled another with a glancing blow from the Stave's side.

More and more rushed forward, and eventually John was subdued by sheer numbers, over five dozen Honour Guards surrounding him. He was knocked down by a blow to the head, and everything became a blur.

"You are lucky I am lenient Demon!" A'trinr shouted after him, as he was taken away. "After such an event, most would change their minds about only throwing you in a cell!"

He saw himself being dragged through a door, then once again blacked out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Three: Assassination  
**  
"How much are you willing to pay?" The Assassin asked, with nods from his two partners.

"When I become Kaidon, you can have whatever you need"

"You do realise that if we fail, or honour compels us to reveal who you are, and you pay the price?"

The Elite in the shadows waved him down.

"I know the rules of succession. Do not fail me."

The Assassins bowed their heads.

"We shall do our best." They scurried off into the night, ready to kill.

High Councillor K'zath smiled, things were turning his way.

*******

John was tossed into the cell, barley coherent. He just about heard an Honour Guard growl something in his face, then saw them leave. He surveyed the cell. He wasn't bound in any way, other than the powerful energy barrier in place of a door. John suspected that inside the alien walls lay similar, wafer thin barriers too.

The world began to come back to him, and he slowly stood up. He tested his theory, and with a grunt, kicked the wall, shattering the thick metal. Through the crack, he saw blue. It seemed he was correct.

After waiting around for what seemed like hours, dinner came. It was a Grunt who brought it, under the protection of Honour Guards. After the barrier was deactivated, the small alien placed the meal down, never taking his eyes of John.

"Boo!" the Spartan said. The Grunt couldn't have run away faster if there was a pack of hungry Jackals on his tail. The barrier was erected again.

It looks like things were going to get very boring very soon. But it was fine. John could wait. One day, someone would make a mistake, and that would be when he would break free. There was still that Energy barrier to think about though. Things would be so much easier if Cortana were with him.

*********

The Assassins stole through the dark corridors of the Citadel, silencing all they came across. They were close to the Kaidon's chambers now, and they could hear the footsteps of the two Honour Guards up ahead. They were talking to each other.

"A tough day today, I was worried when the Demon went insane in the hall." One said, as he passed the other.

"Indeed, but he is locked up now, where he belongs." The two guards parted ways, each going to patrol a different end of the corridor.

As one approached the assassins, they chose that moment to strike. Without a sound, they fell upon the Honour guard, who gave a startled cry before succumbing to death. The other one paused in his tracks.

"Malthusian? What is it?"

The three assassins veered around the corner, and stabbed the guard in the head with the small plasma daggers they carried. The entrance to the Kaidon's quarters was now empty.

One went over to a terminal, and began hacking into the door controls. As he finished, the door slowly slid open, silently. They crept into the room, and saw Kaidon A'trinr asleep in his chair, head slumped slightly to the side. Creeping up behind him, they raised their daggers to strike.

Suddenly, as a dagger flew down through the air, the crack of an energy sword was heard, and A'trinr blocked the dagger with it's side.

"So, yet another assassination attempt." He said, standing up. "Let me guess, K'zath? Yes, it would be him, I have seen the way he looks at me when I hold council, craving more power."

"May you die with honour" One of the assassins said.

"Haha, we'll see" A'trinr smiled, knowing he was far too old to win. But he had accepted this would happen a long time ago. He was ready to die. His only regret was that the Demon was now in danger, despite his best efforts to have it otherwise.

********

Hours later, John was awoken by someone descending the stairs down to his cell. It was an Elite minor, not an Honour Guard for a change. The tired Spartan rose.

"Demon. Kaidon A'trinr is dead. High Councillor K'zath has succeeded him. The Elite paused. "His first decree as Kaidon is that you are to be executed one week from now...I'm sorry."

It looked like John's luck had finally run out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part four: The Unkillable man....**

_**2 months earlier, Installation 04...**_

Sergeant Avery Johnson awoke to an unpleasant surprise. A Flood infection form was attempting to burrow it's way into his torso and hijack his nervous system. Evidently, it was having trouble.

With an explosion of pain, Avery drew out a Magnum .44 from his belt, and fired a bullet, the sound of the shot echoing in his sore ears. The Infection form exploded, splattering him with the dead biomass. Avery stood up.

He was slightly confused as to why he was still alive. That crazy Monitor had hit him square in the chest, surely it would have killed him. Yet here he was, live and kicking. For the first time since he had partook in it, Avery was glad he had volunteered for the Spartan I program, all those years ago.

It made no difference in the end though, he supposed, he would die when Halo detonated anyway. He could see no sign of the Chief and the Arbiter, hopefully they were already on board the Dawn, powering up her engines.

Suddenly, he heard a shimmering noise behind him. He turned around, and came face to face with the last thing he wanted to see. Another Monitor, but different than Spark. Golden, more regal.

"Great, another Light bulb." He growled, popping a cigar from his belt into his mouth. "You here to fire a laser at me too?"

The Monitor appraised him for a second, then dryly replied.

"Hardly. I am 032 Mendicant Bias, Grand Monitor of Installation 00."

After several moments of indecision on whether to believe it or not, Avery decided it didn't really matter anyway.

"Yeah? Well I guess that's some good news. I suppose it'll be nice to have some company in my last moments before this thing goes boom."

A series of sounds came from the Monitor, Johnson could have been wrong, but it almost sounded like it was laughing. In an artificial, clunky way.

"Why so pessimistic Sergeant?" Mendicant asked, curious.

Johnson walked to the edge of the control room, looking down into the chasm below. The darkness he saw seemed to sum up his life, empty.

"It's called realism Light bulb, you robots seem to have trouble understanding it."

It laughed again.

"Oh, don't worry Reclaimer, I understand the situation perfectly. What I don't understand, however, is why you seem to think there is no way out of it."

"Look around Light bulb. This whole place is about to blow, and you're standing, I mean floating there laughing." Johnson told the Monitor, growing tired of it.

"You are right there. Installation 04, and indeed, my own Installation 00, or what you call the Ark, is about to be destroyed. But that doesn't mean we have to be."

A pause, then.

"What do you mean?"

Instead of giving him a direct answer, Mendicant Bias chose to instead be ambiguous.

"Do you know why my former masters built the Halo array Sergeant?"

"Who do you think I am, an ONI Spook? Something to do with stopping the Flood." Avery said simply.

"You are correct, in a way. Originally, however, Halo was conducted not to destroy, but to preserve the Flood. Think, Sergeant, a life form which, from a single spore, smaller than a grain of sand, can destroy an entire empire. What a weapon that could be against my master's enemies, if controlled properly."

"Let me guess, the plan backfired?" Johnson guessed, and from the sounds of approval the Monitor made, it seemed he had guessed correctly.

"That is exactly what happened Reclaimer. The Flood had an aspect to them my masters hadn't predicted."

"And what was that?"

"The Gravemind." Mendicant said, in a strange tone of voice. "But look, even as we speak, Halo's inevitable destruction draws ever closer. We shall resume this conversation another time, for now, we must leave."

"And how exactly do you plan on doing that? And shouldn't I be falling into a deep, dark chasm right about now? Last thing I saw before I blacked out was this place falling to bits." Avery asked, sceptical.

"I still have some power Reclaimer, despite how fractured I am. Every structure my masters built had a transportation grid built into them, to cut down journey time, and for use in the event of an emergency. Usually, it can only be used to get around the same structure. However, in my case the rules are slightly different." It paused, then said, "Are you ready?"

Johnson didn't like the idea of leaving without knowing what had happened to the Chief, but he knew he had no choice.

"As ready as I'm ever gonna be."

A blue nexus surrounded both of them, and in an instant, they were gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part five: The Heretic**

Thel Vadam, Arbiter of the former Covenant empire, was troubled. Whilst he believed his decision to leave the bloodthirsty Sangheili he had once called his brothers a right one, he was unsure if it was a wise one. He needed to talk to someone, someone he could trust.

He paced around the empty halls of his drop ship, looking sadly at the empty chairs where the rest of his brothers would usually be sitting in. How things had changed. The only one he felt he could trust now was his friend from childhood, Saran C'rtrag. Last time he had check, Saran was still living on Sanghelios, mostly free from the past Covenant's tyranny.

Walking back into the navigation bay, he pressed a button on a holographic surface, and a translucent apparition arose. An Artificial Intelligence, a human one.

Luckily for him, it was what the humans called a "dumb" AI, willing to serve the commands of any who held the access code. The Spirit had had one installed whilst the Sangheili were at peace with the humans, to help maximise combat efficiency. In return, his race had shared with the humans the secret of large scale energy shields.

The Arbiter sighed. There was so much potential in the now dead alliance, together, they could have revealed the very mysteries of the universe, nothing would have been able to stop them. Now though, they were once again at each others throats. But Thel refused to believe that a solution couldn't be found, some way, he would stop the fighting.

But first he needed to talk.

"Construct, would you kindly set the coordinates for Sanghelios please?" He asked politely, disregarding the fact that he didn't need to speak to it with tact, as he had done with Cortana.

Thinking of Cortana made him think of the Spartan, and of his sacrifice. Thel was unsure what had happened as the Ark's portal had collapsed, but according to both Sangheili and Human scientists, he could still be alive. Where though was an entirely different matter.

"Yes sir Captain" The program said in response to his command, applying a human rank to him.

Sitting down in the large chair in the Spirit's control deck, the Arbiter braced himself for the oncoming slip space jump.  
Hopefully, the journey home would be an uneventful one.

**********

A nimbus of light surrounded the peaceful clearing for the fraction of a second, then was gone, leaving the outline of two figures.

"Well," Mendicant Bias began, "A most excellent trip."

Johnson was on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. He felt like he could sleep for a week.

"If you so Light bulb, if you say so."

He took a look around. Life was present everywhere, green bushes, tall trees, strange birds flying in the distance. This was Eden.

"Now Sergeant, we have much to do." Mendicant said, drifting around and disappearing into a structure nearby. Avery followed, his footsteps echoing on the strange, metal surface he was standing on.

"Wait up there, where are we?" The Sergeant asked, still gasping for breath. The injury Spark had inflicted upon him was quite potent.

"An ancient grove my masters built aeons ago, a tranquil place where one can rest and be at peace. It is one of the few structures my masters built on this planet that has not been desecrated by the Sangheili living here. But where are my manners? You are hurt, and require medical attention. I shall summon a healing unit at once."

A loud pulse rang through the air, and suddenly out of a small opening in the wall a small sentinel like construct emerged, minus the laser.

"Whoa there," Johnson said as the small machine began patching him up, "What do you mean by Sangheili? Ain't that an Elite?"

The Monitor gave another chuckle. It wasn't as annoying as dear old Spark had been, but still...

"Indeed Sergeant, that is the name humans have applied to the species. So, now that you know that, can you guess where we are?"

Johnson thought for a second. He then thought of an answer, and his face registered disbelief.

"Correct Reclaimer." Mendicant said smugly.

"But I didn't even say anything!" Avery protested.

"Ah, but your expression told otherwise. We are indeed on Sanghelios"

"Wait, why? Wouldn't Earth have been a better place to go?""

Mendicant drifted outside and looked up at the blazing sun in the distance.

"Can you see that Sergeant? That beautiful, blazing beacon of hope, inspiring all who behold it. It makes me glad to exist, as it should you."

Johnson half squinted at it, it had a vibrant violet hue.

"Why is it purple?" Johnson asked.

"Unlike Sol, or the Epsilon Indi star you are used to Sergeant, the Sun shining upon this planet is very different, in that it is made up of highly concentrated Plasma."

"Seriously? That would explain how the Covenant never seemed to run out of ammo for their weapons then."

"And it is also the main reason my masters were interested in this Planet, to harness the immense energy for their own use, for example, the Halo Array was originally built using power from that Sun; when my masters were eventually forced to leave as the Flood outbreak grew ever larger, they left their power storing structures behind."

"So, what was the deal with the Flood?"

Mendicant Bias looked once again into the sky.

"That, Sergeant, is a discussion for another time. Now, if you would let me finish?"

Johnson, abashed, muttered an inaudible apology. With it's advanced Forerunner technology, Mendicant heard it anyway, and was satisfied.

"The Elites discovered these structures when they were still in the tribal stage, and thus their religion was born, with my masters as it's epicentre. It seems foolish if you possess the knowledge I do, but I can understand why my master's were interpreted as Gods. They were rather advanced, after all. Indeed, it was them who first gave life to this rock. In essence, they created the Sangheili"

"Okay, enough talk. The history lesson was nice and all, but why did you bring us here?"

The Monitor looked perplexed.

"Why, to rescue him of course." It said impatiently.

"Rescue who?" Avery queried, puzzled.

"You haven't figured it out? Very well, I shall tell you. You know him best as the Master Chief."


	7. Chapter 7

**Part Six: Home sweet home**

"Now exiting Slip Space Captain. May I advise you to lie down?" A quick, wave of dismissal said otherwise.

Thel Vadam' leaned forward on the edge of his chair. Suddenly, the great swirling cosmos around him morphed into a tranquil, black space. Before him was his beautiful Sanghelios, his home. It had been so long.

"Excellent. Construct, set us down near the state of Vadam. I have an old friend there I wish to meet."

"Roger that sir." The Artificial intelligence said coolly, devoid of all emotion.

"Oh, and engage the stealth systems, all of them. We don't want anyone to know we're here."

There was a faint shimmering sound, and suddenly, the Ship vanished. It was always unnerving when it happened, no matter how often you had done it. To drift through space, unable to see your vessel always shook the Arbiter up.

They bypassed the Planet's defences unseen. The stealth system drive aboard this Spirit was an advanced one. Indeed, the Sangheili had so far been unable to devise a method to detect it.

The Spirit descended slowly upon the luscious surface of the Planet. Unlike the Humans Earth, Sanghelios was still bright and blooming, full of life. This was because his race refused to take too much from a Planet their Gods had left their mark on. Most of the Sangheili's resources were harvested from neighbouring planets.

As it's Engines cooled down, and the Spirit's side doors opened, the Arbiter climbed out and set foot upon his birthplace for the first time in years. To the north he could see the Great Citadel of Vadam, the place he had once ruled as Kaidon, before he got mixed up in The Covenant. Saran C'rtrag lived there, Thel needed to see him.

But he couldn't just march straight in, not as he was dressed currently. He would be instantly identified as the Arbiter. Who knew what heinous price the Sangheili had placed upon his head? He would need new armour.

***********

R'nas N'three left the temple early in the morning. Even with the abolishment of The Covenant, the Elite's were still firm believers in the ancients divinity, and thus kept worshipping them.

He had just been to a sermon, a long one delivered by an Unngoy Deacon. Whilst the Sangheili usually treated the pitiful race in disdain, the Deacons were different, touched by the power of the ancients, with words of wisdom to all, be them Unngoy or Sangheili.

He walked down the marbled streets of the citadel, basking in the sun's violet glow. Remembering to don his red, shining armour in case of a bandit attack, R'nas left the gigantic gates of the citadel and took a step outside into the beautiful forests of Vadam. Every dawn, after worship, N'three enjoyed walking around the pleasant vale surrounding the city, breathing the fresh, morning air.

The Elite followed the river embankment down to his favourite spot in the whole forest, a tranquil sanctuary where one could be at peace. Traces of the ancients were all around him, the strange carvings in the aeon old trees, the way nature sung of their presence. It was beautiful. He sat down at the edge of the bank, and began to meditate.

Suddenly, a large shadow was cast upon R'nas' form, unknown to him, with his eyes tightly shut. He felt a heavy fist swing into the side of his jaw, knocking him senseless to the floor. He blinked once, then faded into unconsciousness.

***********

Bending over his unknown victim, Thel Vadam' began to methodically strip the dazed Elite of his armour. Luckily, underneath was a plain white robe, a testimony to the Elite's religious beliefs.

Taking off his honoured, traditional armour the Prophet of Truth had originally gave to him, he began to place upon his body the armour of the Major he had felled. It would look a bit strange, Thel decided, for one as tall and imposing as him to be a mere Major, but it would have to do, for now. He could always stoop a little bit to make himself look more insignificant.

Taking the time first to place the armour of The Arbiter inside the Spirit's cargo hold, Thel the Major set off for the Citadel.

********

Far beneath the Great Citadel of Vadam, in a sprawling network of artificial network of underground catacombs, John waited in his cell. Waited for the final moment. He had accepted the inevitable, no one was coming to save him, A'trinr, perhaps the only Elite who since crashing had shown him some small kindness, was dead.

Sometime later in the day, or perhaps night, as it was impossible to tell this deep underground, an Elite brought him his daily meal. Gone were the classy steaks he had been given, now he got what was basically watered down paste, barely enough to keep him going.

"Eat up maggot," The Elite sneered, "We wouldn't want you to die before the execution." Before leaving, John was administrated a heavy kick by the Elite, one which caught the Spartan in his side.

How easy it would be for him to stand up now and break the Elite's spine, John mused as he looked at his jailer. But that wouldn't solve anything, he decided, there were legions of Honour Guards just outside, waiting for an excuse, any excuse, which would permit them to make John taste steel.

Instead he waited, conserving his strength. He wasn't going to go out without a fight, no sir. Patiently, he awaited his fate.


	8. Chapter 8

**Part Seven: Revelation**

Thel clambered over the rocky pass which linked the wilderness and the Citadel of Vadam, and arrived at the giant gates guarding it's citizens. As he neared the giant, ancient structures, two Elites stopped him, Majors.

"Halt there stranger. What be your business in this holiest of Citadels?" One of them asked, his voice gruff.

Thinking fast, the Arbiter responded.

"I was attending morning worship brother, and it seems I forgot to thank the Deacon for his excellent sermon. My honour could not bear it if he thought me insolent."

This was good enough for the guards, amongst the Sangheili, one's honour was a symbol of their power. One gave the signal for the gates to be opened. Just as Thel was about to pass through, the guard placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him for a second.

"Wait as second, your face looks familiar. Have we met?"

"Nay brother, you must be mistaken." The Arbiter turned his head, and, shaking of the Elite's grip, entered hurriedly through the port cullis.

He took a long look at the magnificent street before him. As brilliant as the day he had left. The gleaming marble reflected the violet rays of the sun, casting an iridescent glow upon the passers by.

How easy it would be, the Arbiter thought to himself, to rejoin with his race and fall back into the daily routine he had frequented back when he had lived here, all those years ago. But that would be wrong. He owed that much at least to the Spartan.

Saran didn't live far from where Thel was currently walking. If he could remember from his days as Kaidon, his old friend's manor was in the Council district. He wondered if Saran was still upon the Council, back in the day he had been a valuable asset at times to Thel, getting him out of many situations. The only reason he didn't sit at his side as a High Councillor was due to the fact that the Prophet of Regret, upon visiting once, had taken an immediate dislike to him.

He set off slowly, basking in the warm glow of the burning star above him.

**************

"What the hell are you talking about Light bulb?" Johnson asked gruffly.

"As I have just told you Sergeant, we are going to rescue John."

Avery was surprised.

"And how the hell is it that you know his name, eh? He never told anyone that, took weeks of coaxing on my part for him to even give me his serial number, never mind his name."

Giving an ethereal laugh, the monitor drifted around, as it did when about to launch a lengthy explanation.

"I know great many a things Avery. For aeons I have watched from across the stars, following the events of your race. I have seen countless empires fall, only to be replaced by an even stronger one. I have seen people killed, both innocent and evil, old and young. I have heard men and women pray for a better life, mourners weep as their loved ones pass away."

"So what are you, like a God?"

This brought about another chuckle.

"God is but an organic concept, Sergeant, neither right or wrong. But, I suppose, to a certain degree, I have been watching over mankind. Indeed, if it so pleases you, think of me as a God.

"At first, with malicious intent, I watched, and waited. I was still angry at the masters who had imprisoned me, and had no love for their legacy. But eventually I softened, saw the capabilities and potential you had. Love, loss, anguish, hate; these are but a few of the emotions I came to understand in the millennia I spent imprisoned, in fragments. And I realised I shouldn't have betrayed my masters as I had, I shouldn't have listened to the Gravemind, shouldn't have helped him."

"What does this have to do with John?" Avery asked.

"Everything." Came a simple word. "But for now, we must hurry, if we are to reach him in time".  
The Monitor again glowed blue, and the nexus of light once more engulfed them. In a split second, they were gone, leaving the peaceful vale as tranquil as ever.

*****************

Two loud knocks aroused Saran from his late slumber. He was not a particularly religious being, so had no desire to wake up at the early time a strict worship regime required.

"I'm coming!" He called down the stairs as two more knocks sounded. Throwing on a silk robe, he quickly descended the marble steps, and opened the door. He was greeted by a surprise.

"Hello Saran, it's me, Thel...may I come in?"

*****************

Saran and Thel were seated in the main lounge, reclining back in the two gravity chairs in the room. They were each drinking a piping hot mug of tea, one from one of the many crates of the human beverage which had been shipped to Sanghelios during the peace. It tasted good after the long journey.

"So, mighty Arbiter, how have you been doing?"

Thel smiled, it felt good to relax with an old friend and just be himself.

"Like you don't know. On the walk here I've seen countless posters depicting me with a price upon mine head."

"I mean what exactly has been going on whilst you have been away from us? We've all heard the Bards sing of your deeds, but how many are true? Did you really face down a one hundred foot tall Demon and live? And what of the Prophet of Truth? The Temples, constantly trying to stay in a good light, say that as he was about to activate The Ark, the Ancients let forth a bolt of pure energy which incinerated him where he stood? Is this also true?"

"Nay my dear friend, nay. Merely exaggerations of much lesser acts. Although it is true that I met with the Demon, and he is...was, a good man. As worthy as any Sangheili I have met."

"You mean he can't turn warriors to stone with a quick glance."

"He was but a man Saran, a great one."

Saran took another sip of tea, and reclined back further in his chair.

"So, now what will you do?" He asked.

"Well, I was hoping I might stay here for a short while, reminisce about old times."

Puzzled, Saran sat up.

"I meant about the Demon, Thel."

"I don't see what you mean. The Demon is long dead."

"You mean you haven't heard?"

Thel placed down his tea on the floor, and also sat forward.

"Heard what, dear brother?"

"The Demon crashed. Here, on Sanghelios! In Vadam of all places! They took him into custody, A'trinr's guards. He was going to be used as a bargaining tool with the Humans, but then High Councillor K'zath took over, and sentenced him to death. In two days!"

"Surely you are lying!" Thel had stood up by now, and looked poised to run straight down to the dungeon.

"It's the truth. A public execution is to be held, where K'zath will go through the usual process of asking him to beg for mercy, and then kill him."

Saran turned around to pick up his steaming cup.

"But, there is nothing we can do." He turned around slowly. "Everything must die sooner or later."

"I cannot abandon him Saran. I can't." Thel said slowly, remembering how many times the Spartan had saved his life.

"Why not?"

"I can't explain it. Just believe me on this."

Saran gave a long sigh.

"Well, we can't do anything for now, the Demon is kept under lock and key all day by no less than five dozen Honour Guards."

"Very well Saran, I shall wait until the day of the execution. But then I will free him, even if my own life must be forfeit."


	9. Chapter 9

**Part 8 - Judgement**

_**Two days later...**_

"Demon! Wake up, it's time."

An escort of Elite Honour Guards were descending down the steps to his cell, garbed in full golden armour. They were there to take John to his death.

"No last meal?" John asked, confident as ever, not worried by what lay before him.

One of the Elites sneered, and deactivated the barrier. Making sure his brothers were behind him, he moved into the room and cautiously attached energy manacles to his wrists, holding him in place.

"I hope you won't struggle Demon. It would tarnish the little honour you possess."

He was led quietly out of the cell, and slowly ascended up the staircase. Flickering torches on the walls lit the way. It was all very medieval looking.

It seemed that John's time was up. His only wish now was to go out with a bang.

*********

"Please Thel, there must be another way." Saran pleaded to the Arbiter, as the great Elite prepared to leave for the execution hall.

"Nay brother, there isn't, I must do this. I'm sorry." Came a calm reply.

Thel Vadam was garbed in ceremonial Sangheili armour, white with silver t-blam!-s, and an intricate headpiece. It was the traditional attire one wore for such an event.

"Then let me come with you!" His friend pleaded for the fifth time. Thel let out a long sigh.

"I could not in good conscience allow you to risk your life on the behalf of me Saran, you have a good life here, don't throw it away so carelessly. Fear not, if I and the Spartan make it out alive, we shall come here before departing."

Saran paled noticeably, his face lit by the dim candle on the mantelpiece.

"The Demon? In my house? But, Thel, I-"

"He is not a cyborg Saran, nor a Demon. He is a man with a great heart, and as powerful a warrior as any of our kind."

A long, awkward pause followed, and both the Elites could think of nothing to say. Finally, Saran broke the silence.

"Thel, I would like you to take my sword with you. It has been passed down through my family for generations, and it is an ancient and divine weapon, hand crafted by a skilful forger, much more powerful than the ones they mass produce in the factories these days."

Saran walked over to a display case in the corner of the room, and slowly unlocked it. He bent down, and picked up a metallic, curved device.

"Here," The Elite said, passing it gently over to the Arbiter. "It has saved my life on many occasions, may it do the same for you."

"Saran...I don't know what to say..." Thel whispered, marvelling at the fine crafting of the weapon. He traced the runes on the side with his long, tapered finger.

"Through battle and hardship, this blade shall find it's mark, if thy heart is pure..." He translated out loud.

"Treat it well Thel, and it shall do likewise to you."

Holding the blade firmly in his hand, the Arbiter activated it. Suddenly, with a sharp, sliding crack, a beam of pure violet light emerged, hanging in the air like some lit up angel. The hum it made filled the room with joy.

"Thank you Saran. I know how difficult it was for you to part with this."

"It was nothing. Now go, I'm sure your friend needs help, his execution is in five hours, after all."

"Goodbye Saran, you've been such a good friend all these years."

"Don't get me started off Thel, just go." The Elite replied with a dismissive wave. Both knew that this might be the last time they saw each other.

"Farewell."

Thel left through the back door, and made for the Citadel.

*************

A large crack of light shot through the air of the Elite structure, and with a large bang, Sergeant Johnson and Mendicant Bias fell to the floor.

"That took a bit of effort. The further you get from a teleportation matrix, the harder it is to travel." The Monitor said, drifting off the floor.

"Where are we now?" Avery asked, taking a good look around.

"About five miles west of the Great Citadel of Vadam, where John is being held. To be precise, we are inside a factory of sorts.

Johnson took a cigar from his belt, and began chewing it. He was dismayed to find out he only had seven left, barely enough to last him the week.

"Oh yeah? And what kind of factory is it?" He queried.

"My analysis indicates that we appear to be inside a Scarab factory, one which produces the mining models."

"A Scarab? Are there any that are functional?"

The light around the Monitor pulsed with increasing frequency, as it scoured through the records it had hacked into.

"One seems to be working, a few corridors away. It seems like there are no hostile units around it either, other than Engineers. Ah, my masters created their species a long time ago, back in the golden age. It is good to see them still around, further existence of the Forerunner's legacy."

"You think we could take it?" Johnson asked the Monitor.

"I believe we could Sergeant. Why? Do you have a plan in mind?"

Avery smiled knowingly.

"You could say that Light bulb. You could say that."

"Then follow me, I shall lead you to the vehicle."  
They moved around a twisting, confusing corridor, occasionally hearing an Elite bark out an order.

"So." Johnson said as they ran along. "Why exactly are the Elites the bad guys again?"

"No time for that now Sergeant, the execution is in less than five hours."

Johnson gave a grunt of acceptance, and followed without further comment. Soon, they reached the Scarab. Five Engineers hung in the air. Johnson raised his battle rifle to shoot them down.

"Wait Sergeant, there is no need to resort to violence."

"But they're gonna raise the alarm!" He protested.

"Just let me talk to them" The Monitor spoke, as he drifted off to their level.

Mendicant made a series of pulses, and after a few seconds, the Engineers responded with what seemed to be joy. They moved around the Monitor, clapping happily with their long tentacles. After a few more pulses, they seemed to give recognition to a command, and began to descend down to the Scarab, and vanished down below to the control area.

Johnson hopped aboard.

"What was all that about?" He asked the Monitor, who seemed happier than usual.

"Both I and the Engineer's ancestors are constructs of my masters, so we got along fine. I managed to convince them with little effort to help you man the Scarab. They'll be loyal to you now."

"Well ain't that nice?" Johnson mused, walking down to the control room. The Engineers were working away at the console. One made a series of motions, and suddenly, the Scarab came to life.

"Are you ready Sergeant?" Mendicant queried.

"As ready as I'm ever going to be." Came the reply.

***********

The Arbiter arrived in the hall, and mingled in with the rest of the crowd. Up on a pedestal, he could see the new Kaidon, K'zath, sitting eagerly, awaiting the execution. To the right of him was a High Councillor. The left seat was still empty, no one had been found to fill in the vacant seat yet.

Patiently, Thel waited for the Spartan to appear. That would be when he would strike.

***********

John was led further up the corridor, and eventually, reached a large door. An Honour Guard marched stiffly over to a console, and with a hit of a button, the door slid open. With an needed shove from one the Elites, John was tossed out into a large Colosseum like structure. Up high, he could see High Councillor, or Kaidon K'zath smiling smugly down at him.

Judgement day had come.


	10. Chapter 10

**Part 9 - Escape**

Shouts echoed around John, waves of Grunts and Jackals were jeering from the stands, Elites were watching, arms folded with sneers on their condemning faces. And high above sat the new Kaidon and his entourage.

"Demon," Kaidon K'zath spoke in a raspy tone, "You stand before the court here today to pay for your sins. This highest act of heresy must be punished." There were nods around the gigantic room.

"How can I commit heresy when I'm not even a part of your government, O' great Kaidon?" The Spartan mocked.

"Silence! The charges against you are numerous, murder, thievery, heresy, unauthorised landing-"

"What the hell?" John exclaimed in disbelief. "Unauthorised landing? I didn't want to crash here, despite how great you all have been to me."

The Kaidon waved a hand, and suddenly, an Honour Guard standing next to him bashed him to the ground.

"Impudence." He heard the Elite mutter.

"Hold your foul tongue Demon, lest it be ripped for your mouth." The Kaidon called.

"For these crimes Demon, the Council decrees that you be sentenced to death by Plasma Sword. Does anyone in this room have an objection to this?" K'zath cast a dark look around the hallowed hall, daring someone to speak.

"I object!" Shouted a voice, and as one, thousands of beings turned their heads towards this voice. It turned out to be an old Elite in a white robe, standing up. Probably a priest of some sort.

"And on what grounds Deacon?" The Kaidon asked, voice dripping with venom.

"This man has done much for our race, he helped us break away from the Covenant, he stopped the mad man Truth, and most importantly, destroyed the Parasite. And yet, now we are once again engaged in a petty war, you choose to kill him? Shame on you K'zath, scum like you don't deserve to hold power!" The ancient Elite still stood, suddenly concious of the attention he had attracted.

K'zath reclined in his chair, a snarl of anger darkening his face. He turned towards his Guards.

"Kill him." Spoke the Elite simply, the Deacon's face paled.

The Guards hesitated for a second.

"But, noble Kaidon, this Sangeheili is a Deacon, surely we can not-"

"He is a traitor to our race, and an example must be made of him. Now kill him, or else." A crazed look nested upon K'zath's face.

The Guards still wouldn't move.

"We cannot touch this one K'zath, he has done nothing wrong." They insisted.

"Blasphemy!" The Kaidon shouted in anger at them, the Guards flinched. "Very well, if you shall not kill him, I shall do it myself." The Elite drew out an Energy Sword, and strode through the masses to the Deacon, who was still frozen in place with horror, unsure whether or not he should flee.

"Murdering me will not silence the truth K'zath!" The Holy man quivered.

K'zath drew next to him, and threw him down to the floor, scattering a group of nearby Jackals.

"That is where you are wrong." He whispered, and drove the burning blade into the Deacon's heart. The old Elite gave a strangled moan, twitched once, then died. A gasp came up from the crowd.

"Any other objections?" The Kaidon said as he walked back to his throne, his voice echoing throughout the silent hall. No one spoke.

"You heartless bastard." John spoke directly to the Elite's face. Everyone else in the hall silently agreed with the statement.

K'zath smiled.

"Execute the Demon." He spoke grandly. An Honour Guard converged on him, now this was a killing he could follow through. Excited calls rang across the hall.

John tensed himself, ready for one last fight. He heard an Energy Sword crack in the crowd, not from the guards, and suddenly the earth beneath his feet began to shake.

Then all hell broke loose.

***********

The Arbiter had drawn out his sword as the new Kaidon had given the order for the Spartan to be executed, he was just about to jump at the Honour Guard moving in on him and kill him, when suddenly, a huge tremor occurred. Something big was coming, and it was getting closer.

***********

"Is that the Citadel up ahead?" Johnson shouted at the Monitor. The Scarab was moving at a very quick pace, it had engaged active camouflage, a little trick that was activated thanks to the ever helpful Engineers, and Avery could not help but marvel as they moved passed numerous outposts and patrols unnoticed.

"Indeed Sergeant, it is. John resides inside the main chamber. We must hurry, he is about to be killed." Mendicant Bias replied frantically.

"Don't you worry Light Bulb, if my boy Chief is in there, then you can be sure as hell I'm getting him out."

They were just more than 100 metres from the Citadel now. No one had detected them yet. Damn impressive technology, Johnson thought.

"So, what's the plan?" The Monitor queried.

Avery held down a trigger next to him, the front of the Scarab began to glow green.

"You'll see."

*************

"Any last words Demon?" The Honour Guard inquired as he drew out his sword.

"Yeah, the food was lousy." He taunted.

"Farewell Demon." The Elite said, and he raised his sword to strike. Everyone was silent as the climax of the day drew nigh. The rumbling outside was growing louder.

Suddenly, a mighty explosion crashed through the metal wall of the hall, and with a deafening surge, a powerful green beam exploded in the Honour Guard, incinerating him where he stood.

*************

"An impeccable shot Reclaimer." The Monitor remarked, impressed.

"Why thank you Light Bulb." Johnson said.

*************

As soon as the explosion tore through the silence of the hall, John took advantage of the turmoil that swept through the crowd. He ran up to one of the nearby Honour Guards, and felled it with a single blow to the head. The other Guards had noticed him attempting to escape, as had K'zath.

"Kill him!" The Kaidon shrieked manically. "Kill the Demon!" The words sent a shiver down John's spine, he had heard the same words from the Prophet of Truth not too long ago.

As one, around thirty Elites clad in gold and red armour rushed towards John, ceremonial energy staves discarded fro their burning swords. John bent down and picked up a stave, it's power depleted. Essentially, it was a toughened stick. You had to feel sorry for the Elites.

Around him, Grunts, Jackals and Elites were in panic. John realised for the first time that most of them probably weren't soldiers.

He was snatched from his train of thought though, as one of the Honour Guards lunged at him, a grotesque sneer on his face. With lightning quick reactions, John veered to the side, and dealt the Elite a deadly blow to the head. Another went a similar way.

A Jackal ran past in terror, Shield gauntlet raised above. With a well aimed kick, John sent the Jackal flying across the hall, where it smashed into the wall. Just before a barrage of plasma rifle fire hit John, he activated the dropped gauntlet, brought it in front of him and heard the superheated shots dissipated upon it's glowing surface.

Elite after Elite fell at the Spartans hand, he was invincible. He began to back away, searching for an escape. More Scarab blasts shot forth, destroying any attempts on the Elite's part of maintaining order. Just after John felled another desperate Honour Guard, curb stomping it on it's toughened neck, he saw a glint of light out of the corner of his eye. A Jackal sniper scope, and it was poised to fire. There was no way John would dodge it in time. He was dead.

Suddenly, next to the sniper, John saw a vivid violet Energy Sword activate, and an Elite in white, silver gilded armour cut down the Jackal. The Elite's head turned towards John, and gave a nod. Although John couldn't see his saviours face past it's headpiece, the nod seemed familiar.

Noticing the rush of enemies still surging towards him, John picked up a plasma rifle from one of his fallen foes, and ran. The Elite who had saved him followed.

"Fools!" He heard the Kaidon shout behind him. "I will kill this worm myself!"

The Spartan entered a tunnel, one which he hoped would lead outside of the Citadel. He took a glance back, and with a start saw the Elite who had saved him. John raised his rifle, even though the Elite had saved him, it could still be hostile.

Relief broke out as he saw it's face.

"Arbiter?" John asked in disbelief.

"The one and only Spartan. Now come, I know of a way out of here."

The Arbiter ran down the hallway, and John followed, still in shock. They turned a corner.

And ran into an army of Elites, all armed with Energy Swords. They backed away slowly, but stopped when they saw K'zath and five Honour Guard Ultras closing in from the other way.

They were trapped.


	11. Chapter 11

**Part 10: A touching reunion**

"So, you thought you could escape did you?" K'zath taunted, relishing the moment.

"Yeah, now move out of our way or die." John replied in that same calm manner that always unnerved his enemies. The wave of Elites laughed.

"You are in no position to be making threats Demon...And who is that traitor next to you?" The Kaidon said, motioning to the Arbiter.

"You should know me well K'zath, you did serve me as Councillor for a number of years." The Arbiter replied. K'zath looked confused for a second, then his face registered disbelief.

"Thel Vadamee? No...This must be some sort of trick!" K'zath exclaimed, obviously intimidated.

"No tricks K'zath, it is indeed me, Thel Vadam', former Kaidon of the state of Vadam, and Arbiter of the past Covenant. Now stand aside." The Guards murmured, they were obviously unsure what to do.

"Nay Thel, you shall die!" The Kaidon strode forward, and drew out his sword. Just before he was impaled, the Arbiter managed to block the strike with his burning blade. The other Honour Guards moved in to help subdue him. John didn't give them the chance to. He shot one of the Elites in the back, and they all suddenly remembered he was there.

"Kill the Demon! I shall deal with this traitor myself!" K'zath shouted, and the Guards closed in on John. He ran, and the Elites followed. In the now empty hallway, K'zath and the Arbiter circled each other warily.

"You cannot defeat me Thel! You taught me everything you know, and I have learnt much since then." The Kaidon mocked, suddenly lunging at Thel.

With lightning reflexes, the Arbiter parried the blow, sending K'zath's arm upward.

"Not everything...."

K'zath's face distorted in anger, and, jumping up in the air, sliced at Thel's unprotected side. Just before the sword hit, however, the Elite rolled to the side, and with the tip of his violet blade, brushed the armoured leg of the Kaidon. K'zath gave out an ear piecing scream of pain, and drew out another sword.

***************

John ran along, hearing the thirty odd Elites behind him crying out bloodthirsty screams. He deduced it unlikely that he would prevail in head to head combat, they were all, after all, Honour Guards, and all he held was a plasma rifle. Yet he knew he couldn't run forever.

"Face us Demon! Have you no honour?" One called, obviously trying to aggravate him. John didn't care.

He fired a few bolts back, and he heard a cry of pain. It seemed he had taken one out at least.

The corridors were beautiful, John had to admit as he ran through them. Mosaics depicting past events in the history of the Elite covered long stretches of the walls. He could see an Elite shaking hands with a Prophet, one showing a Hunter being felled by what seemed to be an Arbiter. John saw a more recent one showing a human being impaled by an energy sword. The Spartan blasted it.

Despite the pleasant scenery though, he still faced the problem of all the Elites. The Arbiter was most likely preoccupied with the Kaidon, so John doubted he would get assistance from that front. Then he noticed it.

A blue streak in the ceiling, glowing vividly. A plasma conduit. An idea began to form within John's mind, he stopped running, and instead concentrated on the strip above. The Elites soon caught up.

"Given up Demon?" An Honour Guard Ultra taunted, marching to the front of the group. John smiled.

"Not quite," He said, and fired several bolts at the conduit in the ceiling. Burning plasma streamed out, landing on a large percentage of the Guards, including the Ultra at the front. They screamed in agony, hopelessly trying to bat out the turquoise flames dancing upon their bodies. Suddenly there was silence. Only ten Guards remained. John liked those odds.

"You will pay for that, you Human scum!" One shouted in anger.

"Try me." The Spartan taunted, picking up another rifle off the floor; now he held one in each armoured hand.

As one, all the Elites rushed him. John readied himself.

***********

K'zath swung at the Arbiter, dual swords creating an intricate pattern as they sliced through the air. With relative ease, he ducked under the two blades, and tackled the Kaidon, smashing him into the wall. Dust crumbled around them.

As the Arbiter raised his sword to finish the Elite off, K'zath kicked his chest, knocking him off. The two were once again circling.

"You always were reckless in your lessons K'zath!" The Arbiter mocked.

In anger, the Kaidon lunged once again at Thel. Laughing, Thel easily deflected the blow, and retaliated with one of his own, aiming for K'zath's head. At the last second, the Kaidon dove to the side, and the violet blade missed by mere centimetres.

***********

Johnson fired another burning shot at the Citadel, producing one more satisfying explosion.

"Sergeant, I believe that John is no longer inside the main hall." Mendicant Bias spoke.

"Say what? So I've been wasting my time shooting nothing then?" Avery questioned.

"It would seem so." The Monitor seemed amused.

Suddenly, the Sergeant heard a whooshing noise, and five Banshees flew overhead, releasing fuel rod shots. The Scarab shook.

"Damn it, Banshees at Ten O' clock!" Johnson shouted, and Mendicant, who had integrated himself into the system, began firing the auto cannon that nested upon the top of the huge vehicle.

"Reclaimer, I believe you should get down there soon. John may be in trouble."

Another Banshee soared overhead.

"Oh yeah? And how do you suppose I do that?" He queried.

As if on cue, a plasma bolt from the Scarab's turret hit the driver of one of the Banshees, sending it crashing down upon the top of the killing machine. The Driver was dead, but the actual vessel was still very much intact.

"I believe that is your answer Sergeant." Bias replied.

Johnson sighed.

"Very well," He began, slowly walking up the ramp of the Scarab. "You sure you'll be okay in here Light Bulb?"

The Monitor looked at the Engineers, who were happily pushing buttons, doing what they loved most. The Scarab was operating at maximum capacity.

"I'm sure we'll be fine." Bias said wryly.

************

John fired rapidly, blue bolts streaming from the tips of his two rifles, and smashing into the body of the foremost Elite. After a few seconds, the Elite collapsed. The others had come into close quarters by now, and were preparing to slice with their burning swords. One swung at the Chief, and the Spartan jumped high into the air, somersaulting as he soared, pumping bolts of death into the attacker.

He landed behind another, and without looking back, rammed his elbow into the Elites chest. John felt a brief resistance from the Honour Guards' energy shields, then penetrated through, and smashed through it's pumping heart. When John withdrew his arm, it was covered in a damp, orange blood.

He noticed another Plasma conduit, and fired at it. Once again, burning fire poured out, incinerating another five Elites. Now only three remained.

"Throw down your weapons if you wish to live!" John ordered, and his demand was met. The Elites dropped to the ground, hands held high up in the air.

Thinking the situation over, John made the mistake of turning around. Taking advantage, one of the Elites pounced upon John, knocking him the the ground. John grabbed the Elite by it's throat, and threw it with one hand into another, sending them both crashing to the floor, unconscious.

One still remained though, and before John could react, it swung a mighty kick at John's head, dazing him. Grabbing the Spartan by it's shoulder, the Elite hoisted him up into the air, picking up an Energy Sword.

"And so," The lone Honour Guard spoke, activating the blade. "This is where you die." The Elite raised the sword, and John closed his eyes.

Suddenly, a shot rang across the silent hall, and John felt the intense pressure on his shoulder release.

"Not today Ugly." A familiar voice spoke. John turned around, and saw him.

"Johnson?" He asked in disbelief.

"Who else were you expecting?" The Sergeant broke out into a grin.

"But...I saw you die!" The Spartan protested.

"You know what the say Chief, it ain't over 'til the Fat lady sings, and at the moment, it looks like her throat's a little sore."

**************

"You're strong K'zath, but not strong enough!" The Arbiter shouted through gritted teeth. Both of their swords were clashed against each other. The battle had become a contest of strength.

"That is where you are wrong Thel!" K'zath made one last final push, and managed to break the Arbiter's defence. Thel went tumbling to the ground.

"Go ahead, kill me. R'tas will kill you for failing to hold the Demon in any case." Thel spoke, defeated.

"You overestimate him Thel." K'zath spoke, placing his foot upon the Arbiter's chest. "He has no chance against thirty of the Guard. He is dead."

"Were it so easy..." Thel spoke, echoing what he had first spoken months ago.

"Prepare to die, Arbiter." The Kaidon raised both his swords, preparing to impale. As his arms descended though, two green, armoured hands grabbed them, stopping them dead in their tracks. With an impending horror, K'zath turned around, and saw the face of his worst nightmare, the Demon.

"Impossible..." He breathed, and John hoisted him up into the air.

"You know what they say about that word..." The Demon spoke, and, grabbing the Kaidon by the throat, tossed him into the wall. K'zath moaned in pain.

"Please...please!" K'zath screamed. "Have mercy!"

John bent down to the broken Elite's level.

"Demons don't show mercy." He whispered before sharply chopping the Kaidon in the throat. K'zath gave a gargle, coughed up blood, and then slumped to the ground, lifeless. He noticed a small metallic chip drop out from the Kaidon's corpse. Hoping it was what John thought it was, the Spartan picked it up.

Johnson came rushing into view, out of breath.

"God damn it, I missed the party." He swore.

"Sergeant?" The Arbiter rose, and asked in disbelief.

"Yeah yeah, I'm still alive. Come on, I'll fill you in on the details once we get out of here."

John looked at Avery.

"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?" He asked, sceptical.

Suddenly, the roar of the Scarab beam thundered, and one hundred feet or so ahead, a section of the corridor broke off, opening a passage to the outside.

"Ah." John said, his question answered.


	12. Chapter 12

**Part 11: Evacuation time**

"Come on!" Johnson shouted over the carnage above them. Banshees were waging war against the colossal Scarab, and they were losing. Every shot fired seemed like it had been calculated down to the last inch, each and every bolt hit it's mark.

"Who's driving that thing?" John asked, his curiosity piqued. Sergeant Johnson laughed as they ran.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you Chief. Now let's get moving, there's a Seraph fighter just 'round this corner, in a hanger bay. I didn't notice any guards there either, they probably went to watch your 'Execution.' We can board it, and get the hell out of here."

"A sound plan Sergeant, but will it work in practice?" The Arbiter asked.

"Well...I can't fly the damn thing, but you can right?"

Thel looked offended for a second.

"Sergeant, I once commanded the Fleet of Particular Justice, one of the largest of it's kind in the Covenant battle armada, dwarfed only by the Fleet of Righteous Purpose and-"

"I didn't ask about your former titles Arbiter, I just wanted to know if you could fly the bloody Seraph!"

There was a long pause, a slight amount of tension was present in the air.

"Yes Human, I can."

"Good, that's all I wanted to know." Thel glanced at John and rolled his eyes, and despite the grievous situation they were in, John laughed, a hearty one he usually reserved for when he was with his Spartans. His Spartans....

Were they still alive? John certainly hoped so, the thought of being alone in the Universe filled him with dread. But then he remembered The Arbiter, and realised with a start he and the Elite had become as close as he was with Blue team. He wasn't a Spartan, he wasn't even Human, but the two had developed a bond on The Ark, a strong chain which could not be broken.

"There's the hangar, up ahead." John informed his two friends. "I can spot two figures in the distance, they look pretty big.."

"Hunters." The Arbiter spoke. "They are often employed as Security Guards when not in active combat."

John was worried about the Hunters, all he had was a Plasma rifle, hardly a powerful weapon, and Johnson's Battle Rifle only had one clip left. The Arbiter's sword wouldn't be of much use either, it would just slide through the multitude of Lekgolo worms cased inside the near indestructible armour.

"What are we going to do?" John asked in a slightly nervous tone. He wasn't worried about himself, but rather of his two allies, Johnson in particular as he possessed no energy shielding.

"We're gonna kick their ass!" Johnson growled between one of his never ending supplies of cigars. He began to move forward, and was yanked back by the firm, powerful hand of The Arbiter.

"We can't just go forth blindly, the Assault beams they wield will tear us to shreds." The Elite spoke wisely.

"You got any better ideas?" Avery asked of him, spitting a wad of chewed tobacco onto the ground. The Scarab in the distance was still firing.

"As a matter of fact Sergeant, I do..."

**************

Inside the hard shell of the Excavation Scarab, The Grand Monitor of Installation 00 and his coup of Engineers were hard at work. Multiple Banshees were flying over head, and Mendicant had to calibrate every shot perfectly for fear of being over run. Doing this at the same time as paying close attention to the Elite's battle net was no small feat. Bias turned his attention to the battle net.

"The Demon has escaped High Councillor, and Kaidon K'zath has been found dead! An onlooker said it was the Arbiter who duelled with him."

A few seconds, then there came a differential reply.

"_What a shame. We will all miss him dearly. Tell me Major, what is the current status of the Citadel?_"

"_The Scarab outside is still fully functional, and dealing heavy damage. Our Banshee fire squads are failing to destroy it, each one is shot down with a lone plasma bolt in the fusion reactors. All attempts to over ride the access panel have been blocked by an unknown presence._"

"_Blast it! Major 'Saphon, I want that Scarab boarded and all occupents burnt slowly to death._"

"_It will be done, High Councillor 'Desamee._" The link as terminated.

"A boarding party is headed for us." The Monitor calmly explained to the Engineers in their strange language of whistles and gestures. Their long tentacle like hands began frantically moving around in fear.

"Calm down, I shall protect you. Resume at your stations, and act like nothing is wrong." The Monitor then hid up in the corner of the Scarab, waiting.

He didn't have to wait long, for soon, the sound of a Spirit could be heard. A dull clunk echoed as the Spec Ops team dropped onto the Scarab. They marched into the main control room.

"Cease what you are doing or be -" The leader of the squad broke off as he saw five Engineers happily whirring away, oblivious to their presence.

"By the Gods, they're just mere Huragok" One spoke, applying the proper name to them.

"What now?" Another asked, lowering his plasma rifle in uncertainty.

The leader of them grappled with the decision for a few moments.

"Kill them." He spoke in a fierce whisper.

Immediately there was upheaval.

"Kill the Huragok? But they are as innocent as children!" The Elite with the Plasma rifle spoke.

The Spec ops Leader turned around in anger.

"Innocent? Have you taken leave of your senses V'navoi? Can you not see what damage these....traitors have wrought? Kill them now, or face the consequences."

The Elites looked at each other.

"Very well." They spoke, raising their weapons to fire.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you." An unknown voice resonated.

********************

"This is never gonna work.." Johnson whispered as they approached the two Hunters. The Arbiter was in front, and he was dragging behind him both Avery and John, whose hands were bound by Energy manacles.

"Quiet Sergeant, we are about to come within range of their hearing." Thel snapped back, and there was instant silence.

The two Hunters saw them, and ran forward, weapons held high.

"Halt." One spoke. John was utterly shocked. He'd never heard a Hunter utter a sound that wasn't a blood thirsty cry of anger, never mind actual speech.

"What is your business here?" The other queried. With a start, John noticed they weren't actually talking, rather, they were contorting the mass of worms that made up their bodies to produce sounds which they formed into words. The Arbiter took charge, the very symbol of authority in his white, gleaming armour. John hoped the Hunters wouldn't notice the small stain of K'zath's blood on it's back.

"Ah, dear Mglekgolo, I have here two human prisoners which are to be escorted to Fleet master Vadum's flagship. Stand aside if you please." Thel was a natural liar, a trait he'd picked up during his career as Kaidon of Vadam. Politics.

The tow Hunters exchanged looks, wondering what to do. They usually dealt with Unngoy and Kig-Yar who tried to talk their way on board a ship. Confronting one of the Sangheili was a rarity.

"Do you have verification?" The first asked smugly, relishing the power he held.

"You dare question my word? You act above your station, you parasitic leech." Thel breathed in mock anger, his face pressed against that of the Hunter's.

Instead of the violent response John had expected, the two Hunters suddenly shrunk away from the Elite in fear, and made a clumsy attempt at a bow.

"Your ship awaits you noble Sangheili." The worms producing the sounds were contorting in a more frenzied, frightened way.

"A wise choice." Thel spoke in the most arrogant, pompous way John had ever seen him. He gave a sharp yank on the manacles binding him and Johnson, and strode past the two reduced behemoths. He stopped at the Seraph fighter, and unlocked the door via a sensor pad which would only respond the Sangheili touch. We were forced inside, and the door was closed.

"My God Arbiter, you got guts!" Sergeant Johnson spoke in a congratulatory manner. He was about the pat the Elite on the back when he realised he was still bound by the glowing shackles. Thel noticed, and quickly keyed in the access code to deactivate them. He did like wise on the pair binding John too.

"It was nothing." A modest reply came. "Hunters are a docile race when threatened by one of a higher rank. They are firm believers in the rules of war, and obey the commands of any superior officer to the one."

"Enough chatter." John cut them off. "Arbiter, can you fly this thing out of here?"

"I shall head to the control room now Spartan."

"Wait! Don't you want to hear how I'm still alive?" Johnson asked, clearly upset by their lack of interest.

"There'll be plenty of time for stories on the way. But for now we've gotta get out of here."

The Arbiter sidled into the pilot's seat, and began flicking switches. Slowly, the Seraph fighter began to rise up into the air. A voice issued from the speakers.

"Seraph fighter 487, you are not cleared for take off. Abort immediately or be killed." John smashed the speaker with his fist, shattering it into a multitude of pieces.

"We've gotta go. Now." John called over to Thel, who nodded affirmatively.

"Hold on to your helmet." John felt a sudden pang of loss. Cortana had spoken those words to him mere months ago. Now she was gone. But there was hope, John mused as he gazed at the metallic chip he had gathered from the Kaidon's corpse.

*******************

Inside the Scarab, the Elites turned as one to the source of the interruption, and gasped.

"An Oracle..." The leader breathed, basking in the holy guardian's golden glow.

The Oracle descended from the air down to the Elites level.

"A slightly inaccurate term, but yes, you can call me an oracle if you wish. Now tell me, what business do you have here?"

The Elite was thrown of guard. He could think of nothing but the sheer joy he felt from beholding the Oracle. The other Elites were likewise transfixed.

"I-uh..that is to say- we are..." The words would not come. Suddenly the Elite Battle Net receiver in his ear flared to life.

"_What is the hold up Major? The Scarab is still firing!_" Came High Councillor Desamee's impatient tones.

The Major was snapped out of his day dream, and he realised that the Scarab was still firing. And the Oracle was orchestrating the carnage, it was the puppeteer pulling the strings.  
"Open fire my Brothers!" He growled with intense ferocity. His squad was brought back from their trance, and realising the command, raised their Plasma rifles to fire.

"Oh really now, is there really a need for violence?" The Oracle gave a sigh. "It matters not, we have done what must be done here. It is time we leave."

He drifted over to the Engineers, and all five of them stopped operating the Scarab and each placed a long, tapered tentacle upon the Oracle's divine form. The Elites stood still, dumbstruck. Only the Major was still thinking coherently. He squeezed the firm trigger of his Plasma rifle, and felt the shock wave as a cascade of bolts headed towards the Oracle and his Huragok.

However, instead of hearing the satisfying sound of an impact, the bolts carried on, and dispersed against the wall. The Monitor and Huragok were no where to be seen, only a faint light remaianed. Trying desperately to salvage the situation, the Major activated his comm link.

"_High Councillor, we have secured the Scarab with no loss of life_." He spoke, broadcasting it across a private battle net frequency.

"_Excellent work Major, I am very pleased. Report back to me at once._"

The Elite smelled a promotion.

*****************

John was seated in one of the Seraph's many seats, when he suddenly noticed a flash of light behind him. He jumped out the seat and scooped up the Plasma rifle, aiming it at the disturbance. Johnson came over.

"Down on the floor, now!" John commanded the strange group, which consisted of five Engineers and what looked like...

"A Monitor?!?" The Spartan exclaimed, confused.

"Greetings John. I am Mendicant Bias, Grand Monitor of Installation 00. I have been waiting a very long time to meet you in the flesh, so to speak."

Johnson placed a hand on John's shoulder.

"Don't worry Chief. Me and the Light bulb here know each other. Take a seat, I'll fill you in."


	13. Chapter 13

**Part 12 : A leader in disgrace**

R'tas Vadum, Fleetmaster of the glorious Sangheili empire, paced the deck of his Flagship, _Shadow of Intent_. Below him, Sangheili of the highest rank operated the equiment nessecary to keep the huge battle cruiser in the air. They were approaching the target, and fast.

"Fleetmaster, the Human ship heads towards us. What would you have us do?" An Ultra who was in charge of co ordinating the offensive capabilties of the ship spoke.

R'tas cast a long look outside the tinted observation window of the mighty ship, and beheld the UNSC Destroyer hurlting towards them at a dangerous speed. The Human ship, if allowed close enough, would wreck untold havoc with the Mass Accelerated Cannons it carried. The Fleetmaster had to make a decision, quickly.

Yet how could he condemn the lives of so many innocents? In the brief time he had worked with the Humans, he had seen how their forces were assembled. They were not trained from birth, as most Elites were, many were just simple civillians who had signed up to protect their homes. He hesitated in giving the order to fire.

"Fleetmaster!" The Ultra spoke with more urgency. The Destroyer had begun to swivel it's Canons around.

Realising there was no other way, R'tas dropped his head in pity.

"Open....open fire." He spoke, hating himself for giving the command. He felt a vibration course through the chasis of the ship as the Plasma modulators in it's turrets warmed up. Suddenly, with a jolt, ten giant bolts of burning death coursed through the empty reaches of space and crashed into the Destroyer's engines. The Human ship stopped in it's motion to attack, the back of it ablaze with a vivid fire. It made a desperate effort to retreat, turning around, but was caught in the side by another bolt of plasma. The Destroyer began to glow, then exploded into a shower of debris as it's fusion core overloaded.

R'tas felt the pang as hundreds of lives were suddenlt extinguished in a shower of blue death, he saw Human bodies hurtle out into space. With his sharp eyesight, he noticed some were still alive, desperately trying to inhale non-existent air. R'tas felt sick.

"A mighty blow Fleetmaster!" The Ultra spoke enthusiastically. R'tas glanced around, and saw similar expressions of joy upon the faces of the rest of his Brothers. So why did he feel so empty inside?

"Yes, a mighty blow indeed...." R'tas muttered, even as he walked through the lively corridors to his own quarters. He reached them, and, reaching behind him, closed the door and locked it. Slowly, R'tas trudged over to a corner, and sat down, knees brought up to his chin.

What was wrong with him? During his time as Special Operations leader of the Covenant, R'tas had ordered the destruction of countless ships, sometimes opting to press the button himself. So why, now, did he feel so much remorse at the destruction of that ship?

He couldn't carry on like this, he wouldn't. For the first time since commiting the deed, R'tas regretted plunging the Sword into Lord Hood's worthless gut.

Why had their argument gone thus? Why could R'tas not have reached a diplomatic solution? He cursed himself for not following the Arbiter's wise council, for not allowing him to accompany him to the meeting. It had been a matter of honour. R'tas scorned himself. Honour! What a foolish, primitive concept. Why he had adhered to it for so long was beyond him.

But what was he to do? The Arbiter had abandoned him to the mess, prefferring to walk his own path. Where he was now was a mystery. More than anything, R'tas wanted to stop the war, but he knew the Senators would never agree to it, many were well versed in the old ways, for them, Honour was a way of life. To them, to back out of a war would be worse than death.

All was hopeless.

Suddenly, there came a loud knock at the door. R'tas growled, yet more bloodthirsty wretches eager to please their Fleetmaster.

"What is it you want?" R'tas called out, he was surprised to hear traces of distress in his voice.

"Fleet master, a report has come in from Sangheilios." The Elite spoke. R'tas still did not open the door.

"I care not of the monthly tax revenue totals brother, burn it." R'tas replied with distaste.

"But, noble one, it speaks of the Arbiter...and the Demon himself!" Came a frantic reply.

Jumping up from the floor, R'tas harried to the door and unlocked it with a press of a button. An Elite minor was standing, facing him.

"The Arbiter? And the Sparta- Demon you say? What bald faced lies are these?" R'tas asked of the Minor in anger.

"No lies Fleetmaster, read and you shall see."

With an eager hand, R'tas snatched the papers from the Elite, and frantically became scimming the front pages.

"What's this? The Demon was held captive for a week and I was not informed? What heresy is this?"

The Elite facing him became timid.

"I know not Fleet Master, but it sounds like the Kaidon of Vadam wished to keep all the glory for himself."

"We'll see how much glory he recieves when he slowly burns on a fire!" R'tas spoke in fury.

"There is no need noble one. Read onward."

R'tas leafed through the next few pages, his mutilated jaw widening in shock.

"The Demon escaped? From one of the most heavily guarded Citadels on the whole of Sangheilios? Were all the Guards asleep?"

"Nay, Fleet Master, it was during the execution ceremony. I believe there were certain....complications. I here a Scarab was involved, a Spec ops team sent to destroy it have even reported sighting an Oracle."

R'tas feigned anger at the failiure, but in reality he was pleased. The Spartan had survived. He would stop this petty fighting, R'tas was sure of it. And, he noted with glee as he read on, the Arbiter was with him.

"You have done an excellent job conveying this message to me brother, from now on you shall be recognised by all as Major. Head down to the equipment bay and don some new armour. Tell them I sent you. If they are foolish enough to protest, come find me."

The newly appointed Major was stunned. He had been expected to be demoted for being the bearer of bad news, working under the command of a Grunt. Instead, quite the opposite had occurred.

"Thank you Fleet Master." The Major departed, a spring in his step.

Sufficiently cheered up, R'tas headed back down to the Navigation deck.

"Sangheili!" He called out to the operators. "Set a course for Sangheilios."

"We are going to find out what happened there."


	14. Chapter 14

**Part 13: The Truth of it all....**

"Long ago John, my creators, the Forerunner's as you call them; were the dominant power of the galaxy you reside in. They were powerful indeed, and accomplished much with their might; you yourself have seen but a fraction of what they could do through the Halo array."

John was sat in a seat, his hands clasped tightly together and his brow furrowed underneath the reflective dome of his helmet. Opposite to him, Mendicant Bias was recounting a tale, he had an avid audience, the usually practical Sergeant Johnson was leaned in, cigar in his mouth but un-chewed. Even the Arbiter was listening, through the use of the ship's speaker system.

"For aeons they advanced through the ages, documenting every life form, terraforming planets, upholding fully the Mantle that had been passed down to them."

"But they were not the first." The Monitor spoke in a dramatic tone.

"The Precursors..." John breathed, remembering what he had read in the Forerunner terminals scattered throughout the body of both the Ark and Halo.

"Correct John. Millennia before my creators had even developed a primitive form of speech, the Precursors were advancing throughout the stars, going above and beyond the limits of the galaxy; they were intergalactic."

"Nothing was impossible for them, they were an unstoppable force, they kept the Universe in peace. And in the unlikely event that something should happen to them, they created the concept of the Mantle. In the event that the Precursors would be destroyed, this mantle would be passed down to the best suited race to continue their legacy. It happened that this race was that of my creator's. And thus, when by a horrible accident the Precursors were dethroned from the seat of power, the Forerunners carried on their work. Or at least, that was what was supposed to happen."

John paused at the revelation, and leaned back in the reclining chair, thinking hard. Johnson had an extreme look of puzzlement upon his face.

"I'm afraid you've lost me Light bulb, what the hell are you talking about? You understandin' this Chief?" He inquired of both.

John flashed back to the long philosophical talks with Deja, how each and every Spartan was as intelligent as a noble prize winning scientist. Not only was he one of the greatest fighters of the time, he was also one of the greatest minds.

"I understand. But Mendicant, how exactly were the Precursors destroyed?"

"It is a sad tale John, one which my master's documented carefully. Patches were of course, missing from their information, but I have since then fully come to understand what happened, due to an unforeseen event."

"Do go on." John spoke curtly.

"Very well. As I said earlier, the Precursors were indisputably the most intelligent beings the whole of the Universe has ever known. Every great mystery ever known was revealed to them, and thus to my master's, mostly anyway."

"Wait? Every mystery?" Johnson asked.

"Indeed Sergeant, and before you ask, no, I shall not reveal on whether or not there is truly a God, or life after death. There are some things you must find out yourself."

Johnson seemed like he was going to push further, but he suddenly realised that perhaps the Monitor was right, and pressed no more.

"However, one problem was still presented to them. Every organism, no matter how advanced, must die some day. It is inevitable. But the Precursors set out to change that. They set out to cheat death. And what's more, Reclaimers, is that they accomplished it."

Johnson spat out his cigar in surprise.

"That's not possible Light bulb, no one can live forever. Are your circuits scrambled or something."

Mendicant Bias gave a slight chuckle.

"Why is it not possible Sergeant? The mind is just, in essence, a long string of code, programmed in a very complex manner. My mind is built like that also, just in a less fleshy way than yours. So if all the mind is made of is code, can it not be preserved?"

John was beginning to understand the basics of what was going on.

"But you can't store organic code in a computer. That's why, when we create smart AIs, we have to convert the brain into binary. But when you do that, whilst the AI may retain the same personality and intelligence of the brain, it will not have it's memories, nor will it be the person who once possessed the brain." He stated, challenging the Monitor's words.

"An astute observation John, and you are right. Organic matter cannot be placed within a machine. That is why, when the Precursors wished to transfer the mind of one of them, they placed it within a artificially created organism, a living computer if you may. An outstanding, and uncomprehending feat to us, but it happened." The Monitor paused, no doubt enjoying it's audience.

"Whenever a Precursors' physical body died, the mind would be transferred into this living computer, where it could continue to think and communicate. As well as that, the alive computer had the ability to craft bodies for the stored Precursors out of pure calcium, and the minds of the once dead would be transferred into these, linked to the central unit."

"That's amazing..." John breathed, thinking of the ramifications of this. "But what went wrong?"

"At some point, the computer became sentient, and that's when the trouble started. It assessed the prowess of the Precursors, and deemed them unworthy. It decided that they were to be killed. Now, being linked to the minds of so many of the dead, it had complete understanding of the Precursor way of thinking."

"Every attempt made by them to shut it down was foiled, and through the use of viral minions, it slowly began to absorb all the still living Precursors into it. Not only that, but the ones which were linked were completely under it's dominance. Effectively, the Precursors were betrayed by themselves. Many of the once dead had reintegrated back into normal life, going home to their families, sat upon high chairs within their Council. There was no way they could have survived, eventually, they were all converted, under the control of the one unit. Slaves, mindless slaves to a rampant machine's bidding."

"What a way to go..." Johnson muttered.

"Indeed Sergeant. One can only imagine the horror of having ones own father attempt to assimilate you, be betrayed by one's closest friends. Everything the Precursors had ever known fell apart, had it not been for the mantle, their legacy would have died."

"After successfully cleansing this galaxy of all Precursor life, the central intelligence turned it's dark gaze upon the rest of the universe, and deemed it too, unworthy. Using advanced Precursor slip space technology, which could not only take you through space, but also through time itself, it wiped out every last remnant of it's creators. And for aeons, it was never seen again. My master's upheld the mantle as they swore they would, and protected the galaxy they lived in from harm. Unfortunately, they had not mastered the practice of intergalactic travel, and slowly, the rest of the Universe dimmed."

"So this central intelligence, what happened to it? Did it come back?" John asked the Monitor.

"Oh, it came back John, as you should know. You have, after all, met it." Came the reply.

"...I have?" The Spartan was extremely confused.

"Why of course you have John, not only did you meet it, but you hampered it's progress in destroying all."

"You know it as The Gravemind."


	15. Chapter 15

**Part 14: A long talk**

John opened the mechanised door to the ships cockpit, and saw the Arbiter stood, looking out of the Spirit's window. A melancholy look was upon his face.

"What's up?" John asked tentatively, in the same kind tone he would speak to fellow Spartans in.

The Arbiter didn't answer immediately, instead giving a long, drawn out sigh. The Elite stared one last time at the asteroid cluster outside, then looked down at his feet.

"Everything I have ever known has been a lie." He said bitterly. "The Prophet's lied to me, lied to everyone in the Covenant. They knew the truth about the Forerunners, and possibly the Precursors, and they kept it from us. My education, friendships, tactics; all these are based around a false religion. I myself am nothing but a lie. I don't even have a name any more, that was seen to by Truth. And he wrongly gave me this mark, nothing will ever hide it."

There was silence for a few moments, then John spoke, placing an armoured hand upon his friend's shoulder.

"Well Arbiter, what is your name? You've never told me."

"...You really want to know?" The Arbiter asked in a puzzled voice. "Very well, once, I was known as Thel Vadamee', ruler of the state of Vadam; the state you were imprisoned in incidentaly. Then everything changed when I left for the Covenant. I was appointed Ship master, one of the highest ranks a Sangheili could be blessed with, and I, in my stupor, was blind to the blanket of lies the Prophet's were weaving around us. I gave countless orders to kill, sometimes I even pressed the red button myself. All in the name of the false Covenant."

Thel then gave a sobbed laugh, and looked up, facing John.

"I must look pretty pathetic now mustn't I? But it's hard, carrying on when you don't know anything about yourself any more. And now, I'm at war with my brothers, killing them....It's just too much for me Spartan, I don't know if I can do this any more."

John looked at him in the eyes, and spoke.

"Listen Thel, we will get through this. It's all a horrible mistake. Our races will form an alliance again soon, and everything will be fine."

There was a pause, and the two battle hardened warriors appraised each other. Then Thel spoke.

"I know you're right Spartan, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm a traitor. Alas, that is my fate. Moving along Spartan, did the Oracle perchance say where this ship was headed?"

John was confused, Thel was the one piloting the ship.

"Well don't you know?" He asked of the Elite, and received a short shake of the head.

"Nay Spartan, the Oracle input a set of co-ordinates into the Spirit when he came on board. I have no idea where we are heading. A slip space jump seems to be planned in an hour, but I'm not sure why we aren't using the drive now."

"How strange. Anyway, I'm going to go talk to Johnson for a bit. Will you be okay?" John received a nod of the head in confirmation.

And the Spartan walked back through the door he had entered. Thel gave another sigh, how had things become this bad? Perhaps if he had stayed with his brother's, he would have been able to stop the fighting. But it was too late now, and even his dear colleague R'tas Vadum was against him.

To take his mind off of dreary thoughts, Thel began cross referencing the co-ordinates with the ship's navcom. Hopefully it would turn up some results.

*********************

Sirens began wailing across the UNSC Soul of ice, and Marines rushed to the Longsword and Short sword fighter jets in the hanger bay. From his comfy seat in the Destroyer's observation deck, the recently appointed Lord Eden observed calmly the incoming Elite ships. Ten of them, fully armed to the brim.

Eden allowed himself a slight laugh, and brought up to his eye level the Champagne he was drinking. He admired the way the raging sunlight reflected off the glass' surface, and took a sip. The alcohol was nearly 2000 years old, dating back to medieval times. It tasted good.

Suddenly, the large intercom in the corner of the room squawked, and the voice of a nervous man came out of it, the quality was supreme, nothing but the best for him. It sounded as if the man was in the same room as him, which of course was impossible. No on entered Eden's observatory deck unless they had a damn good reason to. Video calls from his wife that his aide held were not classed as a good reason.

"Lord Eden sir, we've got ten ships heading down to Earth, your orders?" The man spoke.

Eden took another sip of his Martini, and reclined further back into his chair.

"What's your name son?" He asked in a laid back tone, holding down the button which turned on the microphone next to him on the old Georgian mantelpiece, which was complete with a glossy sheen.

"Em....Lieutenant Daniels sir, first class. I'm on board the London sir. Should I give the order to the rest of the Orbital Defence Platforms to fire?"

When Daniels said London, he had meant the Orbital Defence Platform that was gridlocked into it's respective city. Eden felt a twinge of homesickness, he'd been born in London.

"Fire at will Leftenant", Eden said, doing away with the American way of saying the rank. "No one is to be left alive, I want everyone on board those ships killed."

There was silence as the young officer contemplated upon those orders, then spoke.

"Aye sir." The line went dead.

Lord Eden put his feet up on the jewel encrusted footrest near him, and waited for the fireworks. He didn't have to wait long. Soon, the stars outside were blocked by metal rounds as every gridlocked Platform in the Northmen equator fired their Mark V MAC guns at the threat. They knocked clean through the shimmering energy shields of the Elite ships, and tore through all ten. A few moments later, they all exploded in a flash of blue thunder.

Eden clapped his hands in delight, finishing of the Martini in a single go, and popping the olive in his mouth. He loved the sight of a good explosion.

"Excellent work Leftenant." He shouted boisterously down the microphone. "I think I'll write you up a promotion to Captain. Yes, Captain Daniels, sounds rather good doesn't it? Now, carry on with the good work. Oh, and order our Zero-G troops to finish off any stranglers who may ave survived. Eden out."

Before the Lieutenant could get in a word of thanks, Eden terminated the line once again.

He sighed in contentment, only 35 years old and already head of the UNSC forces. Life was good.

**********************

"So, how exactly did you survive? That laser blast hit you full on." The Master Chief asked Sergeant Johnson, as they both sat down together in the corner of the ship.

Avery paused, and slowly stuck yet another cigar in his mouth. He began chewing in thought.

"Well Chief, let's just say I'm not just another marine." He replied wryly.

"I'll say." John replied, referring to all of the times Johnson had saved his ass since they first landed on Alpha Halo, all those months ago.

"No no no, I don't mean skill wise. I mean physically." Came a frustrated reply, and John smiled within his helmet. He'd managed to bait Johnson into further conversation.

"Oh?" He said, innocently.

"Yeah, well, there's no easy way to put this Chief, but you won't believe me unless I tell you the story first."

The Spartan patiently awaited the story, and leaned forward, interested.

"Well, back when I was young, I joined the corps. You yourself would have been just a bit younger than me Chief. Anyway, when I signed up,, rather than being shipped off to basic, I got assigned to a Project, named Project ORION. I hadn't been told a great deal about it, but the pay was good, and apparently I was an ideal candidate, whatever the hell that meant."

"Anyway, I had to sign a whole bunch of non-disclosure agreements, all of which I'm breaking right now. At first, I and the other three hundred or so newly signed up soldiers were just doing training, which for some reason was a lot harder and more taxing than the training I've overseen since then. Also, we'd have to study as well; we were taught by some smart A.I."

This sounded very familiar to John, and he got a strange feeling in his gut.

"Anyway, a bit later on, they said they'd make us stronger, faster, and smarter than the other Marines. But we'd have to volunteer for it, and not sue if anything, and I quote "Was to occur during the safe procedure."

"I accepted, as did most of the others. Anyway, they injected us with a whole bunch of chemicals, and left us to stew for a little bit. But apparently, something went wrong. Many of my friends were killed or deformed, and I was one the few to make it out okay. Sure, like they said I was stronger, faster, and smarter than the other marines, but out of three hundred, only ten of us were left, 5 of whom were deformed. Naturally, the Spooks overseeing the project were horrified with the results. The project had been an utter and total failure."

"Anyway, they pulled some strings with the UNSC, and got us reassigned to nice, cosy positions in the corps. We were good, but we weren't the super soldiers they'd hoped we would be. So they covered us up, and I became Sergeant."

"As for Project Orion, it was put on hold. That is until it was started up again by one Catherine Halsey. This time, she said it would work. I was one of the few to know about it, still being linked to the Project, and naturally I opposed it. No one listened. But I guess the Doctor was right, it did work. After all, living prove of that sits before me."

"Me?" John asked in confusion.

"Of course. Ever wonder why I strived so hard to get along with you Chief, despite the fact that behind your back, other Marines shunned you and called you, no offence, a freak of nature? It's because I was glad to see another like me. A newer model, admittedly, but still, I felt a connection."

"You mean to say you're a Spartan?" John asked in disbelief.

Before Johnson could reply however, the Arbiter strode into the room, a satisfied look on his face.

"Spartan, Sergeant, I ran the co-ordinates for the scheduled slip space jump through the Spirit's Battle net, and I turned up some results. Apparently, the destination is a human world, one which the Covenant expressed a great deal of interest in."

"Well Arby, what's it called?" Avery said, standing up.

"According to the battle net, you humans call it Onyx."


	16. Chapter 16

**Part 15 - Onyx**

Spartan Fred-104 strode across the rough, earth-like terrain, holding a loaded MA55 Assault rifle in his hand. He was on the lookout for any of the powerful Sentinels that inhabited the place the were, or the "Micro Dyson Sphere" as Doctor Halsey called it.

The camp the stranded UNSC personnel had set up was a few miles away, Fred had gone far in search for some kind of Forerunner artefact. At his side was Tom, one of the newer Spartans. The domed visor of his SPI suit reflected the artificial sunlight well, making him harder to see than the Spartan Iis in their heavy Mjolnir Mark VI.

"You think we'll run into any trouble?" Tom asked worriedly.

Fred frowned in concern. Before going through the slip space portal to this place, Tom had been a bright, confident young man ready for anything. He wasn't coping well though with being stranded in unknown territory.

"The only trouble around here is us." Fred said bluntly, without glancing back Tom. He emphasised this point by smacking the rifle he held against the palm of his hand, producing a satisfying crack as he did so.

"Well I'm just saying, that we're in danger out here exposed and I don't think we-" Tom was cut off when Fred turned around. The Spartan II put his hand on the Spartan III's shoulder in an assuring way.

"Listen Tom, I know you don't want to admit it but you're not thinking straight. We will get out of here. I know what I'm doing lad, just trust my judgement."

There was silence in the air for a few moments.

"I hear you Fred." Tom said, averting his gaze to the floor.

Fred turned around again, and carried on walking.

"Fred, Tom, found anything?" A voice issued from Fred's Com link which could only be that of Chief Mendez.

"Not yet sir, we're still looking....wait." Fred began, only to cut off when he saw something out the corner of his eye. Fast, and dangerous. Too late, Fred realised what it was.

"Tom, find some cover! Sentinel!" He shouted, and to his relief the younger Spartan complied with his orders, taking shelter between two jagged rocks.

There wasn't enough time for Fred to do the same though, and the Sentinel, now alerted to their prescence, turned upon Fred. The Spartan realised the danger he was in, and dove to the side moments before a powerful beam of heat and light would have smashed into him.

The Sentinels on Onyx were different to the ones John had described seeing on the first Halo, Fred knew. They were bigger, faster, smarter, and worst of all, stronger.

"Fred! What's going on?" Came the harsh voice of Mendez. As he ran, Fred struggled to gain breath the speak.

"A Sentinel sir...Tom's behind cover...I'm in a bit of trouble."

An understatement, Fred realised, as he saw two more Sentinels fly across the clearing and link up with the first. Which made it much more dangerous.

"The other Spartans are on their way to your position Fred. Stay alive for the love of God, or so help me I'll give you a Court Marshal!"

Evidently, Mendez wasn't concerned by the fact that Fred had been given a promotion of Lieutenant Junior Grade, and frankly Fred was releived he wasn't. It would have felt strange being called sir by his mentor.

Just as Mendez finished speaking, a powerful laser shot the ground Fred was about to run across, heating it intensely. Fred was in pain, and felt blisters spring upon his feet, but he carried on running. Finally, he reached the rock he had been running towards, and dove for it, arcing his back as a laser passed just beneath it.

With a thud, Fred landed hard upon the ground, and pressed his back against the rock, breathing heavily. The Sentinels had been trained for combat against the Flood, and whilst the ones outside had fully adapted to the Spartan strategy of shoot and run for cover, these ones hadn't. They were confused.

The trio of Sentinels drifted over to the rock Fred was hiding behind, making confused beeps as they did so. On the other side of the grassy clearing, Fred met Tom's gaze and nodded at him. Thankfully, the Spartan III understood what he meant, and nodded back in confirmation.

The Sentinels rounded the corner and gave out a triumphant cry as it saw it's foe. Fred heard a surge in the air as the machine's powerful cannons began to charge, and the shade around him was lit up by a translucent orange light.

At the last possible moment, Fred unhooked a fragamentary grenade from his belt, and quickly pulled out the pin, discarding it. The Spartan jumped over the Sentinels with an acrobatic flip which would put an Olympian back on Earth to shame, and as he did so, he took the hand which held the ticking grenade and jammed it firmly into the small gap between two of the linked Sentinels.

The Forerunner guardians turned in surprise, swinging around the discharged laser beam, but before the deadly light could touch Fred, the frag wedged inside the Sentinels exploded, destroying one in a blue explosion and buffeting away the other two.

"Now!" Fred shouted, and Tom leaped out of where he had been hiding, running towards Fred. The two Spartans opened fire on one Sentinel, the metal projectiles of their MA5s slamming into the metal chassis of it. Soon, the red light of the Sentinel's one eye dimmed, and it crashed to the ground, broken.

The final sentinel possessed the intelligence to know it was out gunned and outnumbered. Therefore, it fell upon the back up plan programmed into it and began to retreat, flying away much faster than a normal human could run.

Thankfully, Fred and Tom weren't normal Humans.

"The Sentinels must be coming from some place!" Fred shouted. "We're going to find out where.."

Tom nodded, and the two Spartans ran off in pursuit of the damaged guardian, staying just far away enough to not be picked up by it's motion sensory equipment.

They ran through the fields which wouldn't look out of place upon Earth, jumped through hills and crags in chase of it. After two hours of continuous running, the Spartans stopped and gazed in awe up at the sight which beheld them, stopping in their tracks.

High above them, a high Citadel could be seen, hundreds of feet tall, with energised bridges leading towards separate towers. The citadel itself was a lot like other Forerunner structures, clean, pristine, and yet at the same time able to radiate intimidation to all that beheld it. At the front of the building, if that's what it could be called, large doors could be seen which were many times larger than Fred, and he was one of the tallest people of his race.

However, the Citadel was not completely artificial. To the left of it was a huge sparkling lake, surrounded by grassy mores. Trees were dotted here and there around the place, and what looked like apples were growing upon them.

Not for the first time since arriving, Fred suspected that the Dyson Sphere's design had been based upon Earth. But he disregarded that thought, deeming it as unlikely.

Hundreds of Sentinels could be seen high above, drifting around. Fred had never seen so many in one place. The Citadel had serious security, plus magnificent Aesthetics too.

A Sentinel factory wouldn't look like this, it was clearly designed for living, breathing organisms. Suddenly, Fred understood what they'd found.

"Tom, radio for everyone else to get here. Yes, everyone, Halsey and Mendez included."

"What should I tell them?" Tom asked.

Fred paused, and searched for the right words. Once he had chosen them, he prepared to deliver them with appropriate gravity.

"Tell them that we've found a Forerunner city."


	17. Chapter 17

**Part 16 - Arrival**

"The slip space jump is scheduled in ten minutes, prepare yourself." Came the Arbiters wizened tones.

John sat up from Johnson, and pondered upon where they were headed as he walked to the ship's observation window. A hum in the air told him Mendicant Bias was behind him.

"What troubles you John?" It asked, rotating around to face him.

The Spartan gave out a sigh, a long, drawn out one.

"I feel empty. Without Cortana. She stuck by me through all of this, Reach, Halo, High Charity....The Ark. And now she's gone, forever. I know I shouldn't get so attached to a machine, but it's hard not to." When he finished, he lowered his head in slight embarrassment.

Bias gave out what seemed to be a sigh too, and the golden glow illuminating him dimmed.

"Loss is a tough thing. Most of the time, we have to deal with it and move on, lest the worries of the past affect the happiness of the future. However Reclaimer, that is not always the case. I know what you house in your pocket, bring it out."

Slowly, trying to keep his hopes down, John reached and drew out the burnt out metallic chip he had found on the dead Kaidon, K'zath. He held it up to the light for the monitor to see. In the centre of it was a small hole 2cm in diameter.

"I believe you were correct in your initial assumptions, this is indeed Cortana. However, her chip is hopelessly damaged, I cannot fix it."

It was as John thought, and with a sigh, he removed the chip from sight.

"However Reclaimer, there may be one upon Onyx who can. It all depends on whether safety protocols were followed by him."

"Then....there's hope?" The Spartan asked, a undetectable smile creeping across his face.

"Perhaps." Was all he received.

Sergeant Johnson had perked up at the mention of Onyx, and from his chair shouted.

"What the hell is this Onyx eh Tinkerbell?"

It took a few moments before Mendicant Bias realised it was him being spoken to.

"Are you speaking the me? Ah, I wish you would rid yourself of the adversity you have to calling me Mendicant Bias. It really would make things a lot easier." The Monitor explained. John had held enough interrogations of both Rebels and Covenant to know that the monitor had just subtly changed the topic. Johnson wasn't daft either.

"Oh no, you're not changing the subject again! I want an answer Mendicant Bias, and I want it now!" Avery was stood up now, a look of irritation upon his rough face. Bias sighed.

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you Reclaimers. It would be against protocol. You shall just have to wait until we arrive. Which should be in about a minute. If I were you two, I would suggest strapping in."

*****************************

_Just outside of Onyx's orbit_

The ONI prowler Whisper of the night cut through space as it continued to try to find out what had happened. Inside the ship, the ship's AI, Dark Harvest, ran more analysis checks.

"Dark, it's been months and we're still no closer to understanding the Onyx incident. What the hell happened? I'm under a lot of pressure here." The Captain of the ship spoke. To call him a Captain would be inaccurate though, he was actually a Commander. Sector three only accepted the best of the best to their ranks.

"I am unsure sir, however, from the Sentinel debris scattered all over the place, it can be assumed that a) The Sentinels destroyed the planet, and were somehow killed themselves afterwards, or what I think is a more likely option, b) The Sentinels were the planet, and were killed in an explosion of sorts. The radiation we find suggests some kind of Nuclear weaponry." The AI spoke.

It was currently wearing the appearance of a hooded character with straw in it's mouth and a scythe in it's hand. Some of the ONI AIs took their names much too seriously, Sam thought to himself.

"What kind of person would blow it up though? Ah, screw it. I'm gonna go make some coffee, stay alert Dark." He said, and the AI gave a mock salute.

Sam walked through the corridors of the ONI Prowler, and grumbled to himself. He and the AI were the only ones on board the ship, and it was pathetic, he realised that the only thing keeping him from loneliness was a computer program.

He reached the kitchen, and put on the kettle to boil, pouring in finely ground Coffee beans over thirty years old, from Harvest. The food grown there took an incredibly long time to spoil.

The reason there was a limited crew was because ONI didn't want the news the Onyx was destroyed, not just glassed, to get out. So it was decided that only him and an AI would observe; they could be supervised easier.

Sam looked in the corner, and saw the photo of his wife. She was smiling, a perfect pose for the perfect picture. But he knew how she really felt about his descision to join the Navy. If she knew he was actually ONI, she'd probably leave him. To her, Sam was just a normal Commander risking his life every day to save innocents. If only she could see him now, tucked up in a dark corner of UNSC space.

As he was pouring the boiling hot water into an antique mug, he felt a rumble course through the ship. The intercom flared as the AI spoke.

"Commander, we've got a slip space rupture to the right, your orders?`

Sam was confused, this area of space was off limits to everyone. Could the Elites have decided to attack?

His worst fears were realised as he looked out the window and saw a Seraph fighter, larger than the usual, emerge out of the rift. It was a UNSC shade of green, due to the fact that the Elites had coloured most of their ships this way to distinguish them from the Covenant loyaliststs.

But only one ship? Why would they attack with such a pitiful force? Maybe it was a scout. Regardless, Sam rushed to the control room, taking care not to trip on the countless boxes lying around, and hit the panic button on the wall. At least he'd alerted everyone else, they'd be here within less than a day.

"Prepare to open fire!" Sam ordered, and he heard a noise as the triple MAC cannons warmed up. He'd seen it all before, the huge Cannons mounted on the ship would fire hundreds of tons worth of metal at the target, accelerated by magnetic coils. He braced himself for the shockwave, and was glad he didn't have his coffee, it would have gone everywhere.

Dark Harvest began the countdown.

"Firing MAC rounds in 5-4-3-"

Suddenly, a voice rang over the intercom, one Sam remembered from the adverts shown around to boost morale. The computer registered that it was coming from within the Seraph...

"_This is Spartan 117, do not open fire!_"

Sam's body acted before his mind. He made a lunge for the cancellation button, but it was too late. Just before his suddenly sweaty hand clasped around the ominous red button, the Prowler rumbled as three gigantic bullets were fired out of the cannons, towards the Seraph.

Sam's stomach curled, and he cried out with horror as the metal rounds smashed into the "enemy" ship, crushing it to oblivion. Blue plasma flashed as the Seraph crumpled on in itself, removing all traces that it had ever existed.

"_Hello_?" Sam's voice quavered over the intercom, desperately hoping for a reply. "_Hello?_" All he received was static.

"Oh my...What just happened?" Dark breathed in shock, the hologram which represented him dropping it's scythe in surprise.

The Commander took a deep breath, fighting back tears. His eyes were moist, his breath shallow.

"I-I think I just killed the Master Chief..."


	18. Chapter 18

**Part Seventeen: Disturbed Slumber**

Lord Eden was awoken from his peaceful slumber by a call from his secretary. He rose from the cushy bed in his quarters, and, rubbing the sleep from his eyes hit the answer button.

"Yes Mary, what is it?" He demanded impatiently down the intercom, at the same time pulling on his navy briefs. He missed the days when he would of got away with a pair of starched jeans and a loose polo, but that was no longer the case.

"Sir, I've got an incoming transmission from one Commander Samuel Bairns." Mary replied in a youthful, exuberant voice. Caffeine helped her get through the night.

"Commander who?" Eden asked in perplexity, wondering why it was so important that he had to be woken at 2am.

"He's with the Office of Naval Intelligence sir. Sector Three."

"Patch me through." Eden said without a moments hesitation. Sector Three was where all the covert activities happened, anything from there was bound to be intriguing.

A few moments later, and a worried, worn looking face appeared on the large screen .

"Ah, Commander, how wonderful to see you." Eden said, acting as if they'd been friends since college.

"Lord Eden sir! I-I-" The man began, but he suddenly burst out crying. Eden felt a knot twist in his stomach.

"What the devil is wrong Commander? Where are you?" He demanded angrily, he had no time for theatrics.

"J-just outside Onyx sir. Me and the AI Dark Harvest have been monitoring the situation since the explosion. It should be somewhere in the archives. I'm sending you an authorisation code now." He added when noticing Eden's confusion.

Eden walked over to the computer and quickly typed in the override commands he had just received.. His face displayed wonder as he beheld the file.

"My God, they were training Spartans there? Why the hell was I not told of this?"

"Sector Three wanted to keep it quiet sir. Lord Hood didn't know either."

"Hmm...this is very interesting. Next time ONI discovers something like this, I want to be told okay? Now, why did you call me? Surely it wasn't just about Onyx...." Eden used, closing the file temporarily, and opening another he had found. He hit the print button, and allowed himself a lazy smile. He now was in possession of every ONI password for the next twelve months.

"No sir, it wasn't about Onyx. Something worse. Much worse. The Master Chief is dead sir!" The Commander cried, and his voice broke. Eden was staring at him like he had gone mad.

"Well of course he's dead Commander, he's been dead for nearly three months dammit! Listen, Samuel, do you need help? Because I can send some very talented psychiatrists over within less than a day..."

"No sir, he's alive! Well, he's not now, but he was!" The Commander shouted disrespectfully.

Eden sighed, he was getting no where.

"For the love of God man, shut up and put the AI on!" He ordered, and reluctantly the Commander moved away from the camera. For the first time, Eden wondered how they were talking despite the fact they were light years apart. A few seconds later, a hologram popped up of a Grim Reaper with straw in it's mouth. Couldn't he talk to anyone normal?

"Good evening sir." The hooded AI spoke, giving a salute. Well, at least it wasn't crying.

"AI, what on earth is the good Commander over there blabbering on about?"

Dark Harvest regarded his companion with bemusement, and turned back to Eden.

"Earlier today sir, as we were monitoring the situation, I detected a slip space rupture of the port side. Initial diagnostics didn't show it as one of our ships, so we assumed it belonged to the Elites. We were somewhat surprised as but a small Seraph fighter emerged, we'd been expecting a fleet at the least. Presuming it to be a scout, Sam here perhaps a little too eagerly gave the order to fire. Exactly three MAC shots crashed into the side of the Seraph before the Commander could shut it off, enough to destroy it."

Eden's brow furrowed with confusion.

"And why did the Commander attempt to cancel the attack AI?" He questioned of the program.

"I believe it had to do with the message we received from the cruiser seconds before impact sir."

Eden leaned forward in his chair.

"And what was the Message?"

"My data banks recorded it as "_This is Spartan 117, do not open fire!_" .

Eden gasped, and hit the back of the chair hard. He reached for the flask to his right, and hastily poured himself a shot of whiskey, draining it instantly. Without replying the to Artificial Intelligence, Eden stood up and hit another intercom button.

"_London? Yes, this is Admiral Eden speaking. I want you to send a fleet to the co ordinates I'm sending you. Certain events have...transpired._"

"_You want them to go now sir?_" A voice Eden recognised as the newly promoted Captain Daniels asked.

"_Yes Daniels, the sooner the better. I need to know for sure if he's dead._"

*******************

John woke up to a bright light, and raised a hand to his head. His hand felt resistance as it hit the visor of his Mark VI suit.

"Hey!" A distant, familiar voice called. "He's woken up!"

He felt a strong hand grasp his, and pull him up. John realised he must have been looking into a mirror of sorts, because through his eyes he saw a blurry suit of Mjolnir Mark VI.

"You had us worried there for a second." The voice spoke again, John knew he'd heard it before but he couldn't quite place a finger upon it.

His confusion doubled as another blurry suit of Mjolnir dashed into view, and hugged him round the shoulders.

"John thank goodness you're alright!" A different voice this time, female.

"I think he might be concussed." Another female voice sounded, and John turned to see another suit of Mjolnir. He felt faint, and let out a slight groan. What the hell was wrong with him, was he dreaming?

"Whoa, he's swaying! I think he's falling back into unconsciousness!" Shouted the first voice, which John now realised was male. "Someone go get the doctor! It's gonna be alright John, stay with me now, you're safe."

He heard one last sentence before darkness consumed him.

"You're back with us."


	19. Chapter 19

**Part Eighteen: A troublesome politician**

"Fleet master, I assure you, we tried many a time to contact you. I blame slip space interference." High Councillor 'Defames assured his liege earnestly.

"So you say." R'tas replied. "Yet for some reason I do not quite believe you. And why was I not informed of the change of power here? I knew Kaidon A'trinr, he was a great man. Did you not think I should know he had been replaced by High Councillor K'zath? I am the leader of the Sangheili, and I demand the respect my station deserves!"

"Honoured one, with the end of the Prophet's regime we assumed-"

"You assumed what? That you could establish laws of your own? Nay, you are mistaken brother, with the Prophets gone I am in charge. Never forget that." R'tas shouted at the cowering High Councillor in anger.

Since arriving upon Sangheilios yesterday, R'tas had found the Councillors of Vadam to be stubborn. They'd have to be put in their place soon. But for now...

"Now, what can you tell me of the incident?" R'tas demanded of 'Defames.

"What incident would that be my lord?"

R'tas had had enough of the stalling. He beckoned over an Honour Guard.

"What is your name brother?" He asked of the young guardian.

"G'rath Teynold Fleet master." The Honour Guard replied.

"Ah, a Teynold? I believe I have met one of your kin before G'rath. You shall bring your family great honour today. Take this filth to the dungeon." R'tas pointed at the horrified 'Defames.

"No! No! Please my lord, please!" The High Councillor begged even as he was lifted by the scruff of his neck by G'rath. R'tas allowed himself a smile, his sharp teeth gleaming.

"Oh? Will you stop stalling then, and tell me what I want to know?" He inquired in a deadly voice.

"Yes! Yes Fleet master, I'll tell everything!" The High Councillor cried, relief clear in his voice. R'tas turned his back and headed towards his quarters.

"So you knew what I was asking about all along, and you refrained from telling me? Take him to the Dungeon G'rath, I'll be down to interrogate him later." R'tas hated the game of politics, but it didn't mean he couldn't play.

************************  
"What in Sam hell just happened?" Johnson growled as he lifted himself off the floor. His combats were torn, exposing to the cold, bitter wind his bloody knees. Near him he could hear the Engineers the Monitor had brought with it whistling in alarm.

"Do you Humans always shoot first and ask questions later?" Mendicant Bias inquired of the Sergeant. "Ah, no matter, I just don't enjoy having to create a temporal slip space rift a split second before we are destroyed by artillery rounds."

"Where has the Spartan gone?" The Arbiter asked as he warily looked around in confusion.

"Where has he?-" The Monitor began, then realised what the Elite was talking about. "Oh dear. It seems the plasma explosion may have changed the course of the slip space rift, John could be anywhere on this installation or..em...floating in slip space."

"Say what? Damn it Light bulb, you better not have just killed the greatest chance humanity has for survival!" Avery was stood up now, his angry features pushed against the Monitor's lens. Thel readied himself to restrain him if things got nasty, although with the fire-power he possessed, Bias hardly needed it.

"Now now Sergeant, in all probability he is simply somewhere else upon this installation. There is a very small chance he is elsewhere." Bias assured him, and Avery stepped back.

"How small a chance?" The Sergeant asked quietly, whilst fumbling in his pouch for a cigar to chew on. His face showed dismay when he found nothing, and realised he was all out.

"Judging by my somewhat fractured processing unit, I'd say about 33.33 percent recurring."

"You call that small? Dammit, I have less chance getting a specific number on a dice than that! Well, I suppose there's nothing we can do about it but hope. Where the hell are we anyway?"

"I have no idea." The Arbiter added unhelpfully. He looked uncomfortable without an Elite or the Chief with him.

"I intended to bring us to Onyx due to the fact a Sentinel production factory was upon it, something which would have proved useful. However, it seems like the planet was destroyed, the Dyson sphere it housed activated. Thus, when the ship was firing at us, I did the only possible thing I could and telephoned us inside it. Unfortunately, on account of me having to work so quickly, coupled with the explosion, it seems John has been...separated." Bias spoke regretfully.

"Right, well, the first thing we should do is set up camp. I suggest that-"

Johnson was inscrutably cut off as Mendicant Bias' lens flashed red, and the golden hologram surrounding him began to flicked and change to a dull bronze colour.

"Arghh!" Bias exclaimed, had he not been so worried and confused Johnson would have wondered how the Monitor registered pain. "No...it can't be...."

Sparks began to fly off Mendicant, and Avery drew out his weapon, all the good it would have done him.

"What is it Oracle?" Thel inquired of it, a look of uncertainty upon his face.

"YOUR INTRUSION HAS BEEN LOGGED" A voice emanated out of Bias' speakers, but it definitely wasn't his voice, it was deeper, more menacing.

"What the hell?" Johnson took a step back fearfully, and the Arbiter moved his hand across his chest in a prayer like motion.

DEFENCE PROTOCOLS HAVE BEEN INTIATED

"AFFILIATES HAVE BEEN ADDED TO SENTINEL TARGETING LEDGER"

"Light bulb? Snap out of it for God's sake!" Avery shouted, raising his rifle. The Arbiter drew out his violet Energy Sword.

"YOU SHOULD HAVE REMAINED IN YOUR PRISON MENDICANT BIAS"

"FOR NOW I MUST DESTROY YOU"

*******************

R'tas descended down the spiraling flight of steps to the dungeon, alone. He prided himself on not needing an escort of guards to follow him wherever he chose to go. He lifted a glowing blue torch of the wall and continued walking.

The dungeon of Vadam was ancient, easily over 5000 years old. R'tas reminisced fondly upon the lessons he had learnt as a young ling, the history of their race and how they had started off as an honourable race using swords crafted from metal. Much like the human medieval times, he thought.

Soon, technology came to their world, and they began venturing out into space. If they had made full use of the Forerunner relics on Sangheilios, they would have done this long ago, but it had been considered amongst the Sangheili to be heresy to touch a relic, punishable by death.

Everything had changed when the Prophets arrived, in the Forerunner Dreadnought. How the leaders had cried heresy at the use of the holy ship, crying out the word even as they were incinerated by the powerful weapons the Dreadnought housed.

All had changed with the writ of union, and his race had reluctantly accepted the Prophets ideology that the relics should be used. Now that they were free from their rule, many were debating on whether or not to return to the old ways. R'tas knew it would never happen, his race had become too used to the power the relics gave them.

Moisture dripped from the stone ceiling, and dropped upon R'tas' shoulder. He didn't flinch.

"So High Councillor, are you ready to talk to me?" He called as he reached the dungeon."

"Yes noble one! Of course!" A timid voice called. R'tas snorted, disgusted. 'Defames wouldn't make a good soldier, if he was a warrior R'tas was probably put him under the command of an Unngoy.

"Very well. Now you've learnt your lesson, let's go somewhere quieter."

*****************

"So you tracked the Co-ordinates for the Seraph's slip space jump? And where, my dear High Councillor, did they lead?"

'Defames hesitated a second, then reluctantly handed over to chip of data. R'tas activated it, and a 3-Dimensional view of the planet the Seraph had jumped to appeared. Symbols of Reclaimers, or the Humans, were etched upon the hologram, detected by the luminary back when the Covenant ruled.

"These glyphs are numerous. This planet, it's controlled by the Humans?"

"It would seem so Fleet master. Is the a specific reason as to why you wished to see this?"

R'tas drew in a breath, and stood up to his full height.

"I want the full fleet of Vadam ready to leave. Now." He stated bluntly, turning towards the doorway.

Forgetting his earlier fears, the High Councillor stood up and began to protest.

"My lord, you surely can't take our military force! We will be vulnerable to attack from the Humans! Are you so pathetic that you are willing to risk the safety of this entire state just to chase your Demon friend?"

As soon as he said it, 'Defames knew he had gone too far. His face paled. R'tas slowly turned around, and drew out his sword, marching up to the frightened politician.

"What right, what sanction do you presume to have to judge me?" The Fleet master said, grasping the High Councillor's thin neck with one, bone crushing hand. R'tas hoisted the flailing Elite, and slammed him against the wall.

"Now." R'tas whispered, bringing the burning sword up to 'Defames' neck. " I am going take the fleet, and find the Spartan and the Arbiter. They both have influence with the Humans, the Spartan especially, and I hope to bring this war to the end."

"That's....Heresy!" Croaked 'Defames through his constricted windpipe.

"You sound just like a Prophet...How pathetic. I could kill you right now, I could say you fell. No one would question my word."

A terrified squeak emerged from the High Councillor's mouth. R'tas snorted in disgust, and tossed the Elite to the ground, where he lay quivering in his mewled robes.

"Don't follow me. Or I will kill you." R'tas warned as he left.

************************

One hour later, the fleet was assembled. It was rather small, only Twelve ships, the Sangheili had suffered great losses with the betrayal of the Jirahanae, but it was a fleet all the same.

"We are ready to leave!" R'tas called to the fleet through the com channel, from his flagship, Shadow of Intent. "Prepare yourself Warriors, the battle ahead may be tough. Who knows what awaits us at our destination? But still, we must go, for peace's sake."

"Set course for Onyx!"


	20. Chapter 20

**Part Nineteen: Help from the lady in blue...**

"Where the hell did he drop from anyway?" A gruff male voice asked.

"I can't say for sure, I've got some theories but we'll know more when he wakes up." A female one replied in turn.

John was feeling weak. Weaker than he had ever remembered being. Hearing what seemed like familiar voices, he slowly and painfully opened his eyes. Everything seemed less clear, less coherent. With a start, John realised he had been stripped of his sight enhancing Mjolnir armour, and was dressed in the casual military clothes he wore beneath the powerful exoskeleton.

His retina adjusting to this disability, he looked up and saw a beautiful starry sky, and looking around, found that he was lying on the floor, a few pieces of thin fabric doing little to ease his uncomfortably.

With a grunt, he propped himself up on his arms, only to succumb to his injuries and fall back down again, screwing his eyes shut in pain. He hit the ground with a clash, and heard a startled gasp from afar. A figure came running into view.

"Oh my goodness, you're awake! Don't try to move John, you need to rest right now." A female voice spoke, one John knew from his youth. He opened his eyes again.

"Doctor...Doctor Halsey?" He asked, shocked by how weak his voice sounded to him.

"That's right. Now, save your questions for later, and I'll save mine too. I unsealed your Mjolnir and stripped some of the bio foam from it, in an attempt to speed up the process of healing. But by all rights John, you should be dead! One of your lungs had been crushed, and your artery was flowing freely. I guess being a Spartan helped." Halsey replied in a matter of fact manner,

"Where are we? And what are you doing here?" John inquired, getting straight to the point.

Halsey laughed.

"Always straight to the core of the problem right John? Stay here, I'll go and get Fred and Kelly to help you inside. We'll talk over a meal. Oh, and I have a friend of yours inside who's all better now. She couldn't give me much information though."

And with that she walked off, leaving John to lie in his confusion.

**************

It was hell, Mendicant Bias decided, as another attack was launched upon him by his enemy. Within the confines of his artificial mind, he had set up barriers, but slowly, they were being torn down. The pain was more than any he had ever experienced, even all those years ago when he had first been fragmented, by the same being as now ironically.

For reasons Mendicant couldn't quite understand, Offensive Bias, the being created to destroy him during his lapse into rampancy, was present upon this installation. Which poised a problem for him. A problem that would most likely result in his death.

Half heartedly, Mendicant retaliated with a pathetic attack of his own, one which didn't even phase the more powerful Artificial Intelligence. Offensive was living up to his name, relentless.

"Why are you here Mendicant?" A deep, scratchy voice echoed throughout his data core. "Haven't you done enough damage? The Installations were activated millenea ago, no life remains. Surely the Gravemind can't still be alive after all this time?"

Realising the life line when he saw it, Mendicant replied quickly in turn.

"Nay Offensive, or at least not the same one I served. Life did survive, one of the beings with me is Reclaimer. I have come to atone for my sins, to undo the wrongs I wrought."

There was a brief respite from the continuous assault, as Offensive rescanned Sergeant Johnson. After a few moments, he was back.

"It seems you speak the truth Mendicant. Or do you? What lies have you fed this Reclaimer to gain his confidence?" It said, doubling the strength of it's attack. Mendicant threw up another barrier, but it was weak. He could see the presence of Offensive Bias on the other side, regarding him with suspicion."

"No...lies. Not this time. I come now as a friend, to repent. We must act swiftly, the Flood is returning, perhaps stronger than ever."

Offensive observed for a moment, then turned red in aggression, throwing itself against the weak Monitor with all it's strength.

"Perhaps you are right Mendicant. But I am not willing to risk the lives of all who sleep on this installation upon a hunch. It matters not, when you are dead I will examine your crushed data core and see if you really were being honest. Although, honest or not, it really makes no difference to you..."

As a result of the attack, Mendicant began to feel his spark dimming. In a moment, he would be nothing but broken wires and circuits.

Then, as he was prepared to give up and surrender to Offensive Bias, another presence entered his core, an alien one not of Forerunner origin. In his weakened state, he could barely make out the following words.

"I think it's time you left." A human like, female voice spoke authoritatively. The next second, Mendicant felt another mind link with his own.

"I'm sorry? Who might you be?" Offensive demanded menacingly, relinquishing his hold on Mendicant for a slight second.

"I'm your worst nightmare." She spoke simply, and with a wave of her blue, holographic hand, Mendicant felt the pressure on him vanish entirely. The representation of her then walked over to him.

"Why thank you for helping me there." Mendicant stated. "But tell me, how did you know I was on your side?"

The other AI laughed.

"I'd seen you before, or at least felt you presence. You were on High Charity, delaying the launch weren't you? At first, I thought you were being hostile, but now I know why you did it. I'm glad to have you on our side Mendicant Bias." She said, transferring a surge of energy into his crippled power as she did so.

"As am I glad to have you. I'm glad John survived, or at least I assume he did?" A short nod confirmed his hunch. "And it's good to see you working again, but tell me, who fixed your data core?" He asked her.

"You'll see soon enough. I'll upload our location to your memory banks, you and your....interesting entourage should be able to locate us after that. I'm leaving now, this long distance communication is tiring." Came a witty reply.

"Very well. We shall meet up with you soon. Oh, and Cortana? Try and keep John alive while I'm gone."

Cortana turned, with an offended look on her features.

"I've been doing it a lot longer than you have Mendicant, don't worry about us." And with that, she faded.

Mendicant chuckled, things were getting interesting. Slowly, he emerged out of his data core, and once again looked out upon the real world. He looked down, and saw Johnson and the Arbiter staring up at him in perplexity, their weapons raised. The five Engineers were cowering behind a rock.

"Well you can put those guns away. I'm fine now." He said calmly, as if nothing had transpired.

"We heard....voices. It was....sort of unnerving." Johnson said, reluctantly holstering his battle rifle. The Arbiter nodded in agreement.

"I apologise for that Reclaimer, Arbiter. And to my Huragok friends over there too. I ran into an old friend, thankfully a newer one bailed me out. But the good news is I know where we can find John, and perhaps some other allies too."

"He's alive? Well that's a relief. What are we waiting for then, let's go."

*******************

John limped along, supported as he did by Kelly and Fred. He didn't feel in a talkative, he didn't have the energy to. His two fellow Spartans though had no such reservations.

"You wouldn't believe what's happened over these past few months John. But I'm afraid you're going to have to believe, because it's real alright." Fred spoke happily, excited that his friend was with them once again.

"Yeah?" John croaked out. "Well I've had some....pretty crazy adventures myself."

"Well, you can tell us all about it later. We need to know what's happening. As for where the hell you came from, I'm sure that's a long story too. We can wait. Right, we're nearly at the Forerunner settlement, AKA camp." That was Kelly speaking, in her slight accent.

"Forerunner settlement?" John wheezed, and immediately wished he hadn't, as he broke into a coughing fit.

"Yep." Fred explained after he was done. "A couple of miles away is a huge Citadel, you can see it in the distance if you look carefully. Anyway, we did bit of searching and found a small village like place near it. We decided to set up shop there, we even found some food. At first were against eating it, you know, it must have been ancient. But after a little bit, hunger settled in, and we decided to eat it anyway. To our surprise, it tasted fresh like it had been prepared the other day. Strange thing is, every day the cupboard replenishes itself. The Doctor suspects it's transferred here by a small slip space rupture."

John chuckled, that was Fred alright, when he got started, he didn't pipe down.

"Anyway, a few days ago we were out scouting, trying to find things we could use, when suddenly me, Kelly and Linda hear a faint whooshing noise. A few seconds later, a bright light filled the clearing and you just popped out of nowhere, leaving a fairly large crater where you fell. Kelly ran to go get the doctor, and she came a little bit later. Told us to leave you where you where, and began working her magic, after we'd stripped your armour that is. Fortunately, Halsey knows the release codes. Anyway, I'm rambling, and the building where everyone is waiting is just ahead."

"I'm glad you're here John." Kelly spoke warmly. "We've got a much better chance of storming the Citadel with you here."

"Storming the what?" John asked faintly, but was cut off as he came to a building. Fred pressed some buttons to the side of the door, and it slid open. On the other side was a familiar face.

"Chief," CPO Mendez greeted. "It's good to see you live and kicking son."


	21. Chapter 21

**Part Twenty : So it begins...**  
_  
Outside of Onyx's orbit_

Captain Daniels paced up and down the deck of the UNSC Galapagos destroyer thoughtfully, even as sirens were ringing and the ship was preparing it's weaponry system.. They'd arrived in the system of Onyx yesterday, and had found nothing to greet them except thousands upon thousands of what were apparently ravaged Sentinels.

The only sign that the Master Chief had been here was the video and voice recording taken from the ONI Prowler Whisper of Night, presented by a traumatised Commander Samuel. Daniels felt a pang of sympathy for the man, despite the fact he was an ONI Spook. To be responsible for the death of Humanities greatest hero must have been nerve wrecking.

Daniels sighed, it was a waste of time and resources being here, not to mention the fact that Earth; specifically London, was a lot more vulnerable now. Yet after they had found traces of an unusual slip space rupture, Lord Eden had insisted they stay put, in case anything were to happen.

A plasma explosion crashing into the side of the ship brought the Captain out of his train of thought, and he cursed.

The Elites had arrived in system a few hours ago. With a fleet large enough to rival the one Daniels had brought with him too. They had hung back for an hour or so, no doubt discussing tactics, then without warning a plasma missile crashed into one of the ships in Daniels' fleet, depleting it's energy shields.

The Captain smiled, he was sure the Elites regretted giving them shield technology now that it was being used against them.

The battle was in full throttle now, and Daniels gave the order for another MAC round to be fired at an Elite cruiser. The destroyer charged up it's mighty gun, and let loose. The huge chunk of metal smashed through the enemy ship, obliterating it in a blue and purple explosion.

One ship down, Eleven to go. And Daniels only had Nine left. While the UNSC ships may be rival to an Elite one, with the new energy shields installed, the Elites still had thousands of years more hereditary experience of fighting in space. The battle would be close.

A voice called across the Galapagos' intercom, and Daniels' head rose.

"We have boarders in Hanger Bay Five. All available combat personnel respond!"

Boarders eh? Thought Daniels as he grabbed a pump action shot gun from a nearby rack. Time to go greet them.

***********************

"So Chief, d'ya miss me?"

John got that cold feeling down his spine he usually experienced when he inserted Cortana into his neural implant.

"_More than you could ever know._" He thought, knowing that Cortana would hear it.

"_Doctor Halsey is a genius. Not only did she repair me, but she managed to extend my life span by another ten years. So I'm not going to go rampant on you just yet Chief." She said within the confines of his mind_.

"Glad to hear it." He said, this time speaking aloud.

"Well, we should head on over to the briefing room. You can tell everyone else what we've been up to. It's gonna be quite a tale."

*************************

"The Ark you say?" Catherine Halsey queried of John.

"Yes Ma'am, a final defence against the Flood; it was built to simultaneously activate every Halo in the Galaxy. The interesting part is that the Forerunners built it outside the Milky Way, the person who activates it is safe from all harm."

"Let me guess; you blew it up?" The Doctor asked coyly. Her level of perception didn't surprise John, she knew his style better than anyone, except of course Cortana.

"We did." Cortana pitched in, using the helmet of John's suit to do so. "We activated an incomplete Halo, it started a reaction which blew the place up."

For the next hour or so, John and Cortana took turns filling in Halsey and everyone else on what they'd been doing. They were surprised to learn that the Elites had joined them, but now they were at war again.

"So basically this whole war was started by a misunderstanding? Well, as soon as we get out of this place we'll make ends meet." Halsey said, instantly calming John down. When Halsey set out to do something, it usually got done.

"Nonsense!" Mendez suddenly cried. "We should never work with those murderous Elites, I say we kill every last one of them!"

John's fellow Spartans nodded in agreement, as did the unfamiliar characters in Mjolnir esque armour. They looked like Spartans, but John had never seen them before.

He couldn't blame them for their attitude; indeed, much less than a year ago John had believed the same thing. He would have happily throttled every single one of them personally had the opportunity presented itself.

But things had changed, especially since he had met the Arbiter, or Thel Vadam' he reminded himself. And John had realised that, when you got down to the core of it, Elites and Humans weren't all that different. It wasn't hard to imagine a time when Elites would be living in Human cities and vice versa.

"I disagree. I've met Elites outside of combat, and they're not so different from us. One of them happens to be a close friend." He replied, receiving tuts of disapproval. Wanting to change the subject, he turned to the new Spartan like figures.

"So where exactly do you fit into all of this then?" He asked of them irritably, annoyed that they were so quick to pass judgement upon a species they had never met with without a gun.

The two tallest ones stood up, and shook John's hand firmly. Too firmly to be normal humans.

"I'm Tom, and this is Lucy. We've heard a lot of stories about you Master Chief sir, all the threes looked up to you greatly. It has always been my wish to see you in the flesh." Tom said, confusing John even more.

"Well thank you, I'm flattered but--"

"What do you mean by 'Threes'?" Cortana cut in suspiciously. Tom kicked his foot back and forth guiltily.

"Well, Spartan IIIs ma'am. The next generation so to speak. The program was started by Colonel Ackerson a while ago."

"I knew it! Damn Ackerson, I should have known he'd do something like that, the sly bastard!" Cortana suddenly shouted, surprising everyone.

"Hey Cortana, show some respect. The man died stalling the Covenant when they attacked Earth; don't you remember?" Then John suddenly realised. "Ah, of course, you weren't there. I'll fill you in later. For now, just keep in mind that to me, he's a Hero."

He then directed his attention back to Tom and Lucy, who were standing still, awkwardly.

"So, who trained you then? Just Mendez?" He asked of them, and Mendez cleared his throat.

"Actually John, Kurt helped. Yeah, **that** Kurt. Don't start attacking me with questions, I'll fill you in."

*****************

_Forward Unto Dawn crash site, State of Vadam, Sangheilios_

The blazing wreck of the Forward Unto Dawn illuminated the crystal clear lake with a red, hell like glow. Badly damaged by it's surge through atmosphere, it was but a fragment of the magnificent frigate it once was.

A large chunk of metal suddenly shifted to one side, and from underneath the metal poked three small tentacles, trying to pull itself free from the rubble. Finally, after an hour of constant struggling, it did, and shook the rubble off of it's fleshy form.

It scurried over to the side of the lake bed, and dipped a tentacle in the water, opening the pores on the end of it. Happy it had completed one job, it moved off elsewhere, leaving the tarnished water behind it.

Receiving no information from the central intelligence, it had to depend upon it's primal instincts to survive.

The thing looked towards the sky, and saw smoke billow across the tall trees some miles away. Urged on by pheromones, it harried off towards the smoke, cutting through the jungle.

As it moved across the vines and scattered leaves, avoiding swamps and bogs, a figure dropped down in it's path. A small creature, with a curious face and hairy body. The figure wasn't much taller than it. Merely a simple, unintelligent animal, most likely native to the jungle..

After evaluating the situation for a few seconds, the thing took the only possible course of action, and launched itself at the figure. It grasped on with fierce grip, and plunged the sharp tapered points of it's tentacles into the spine of the figure, oblivious to the screams of shock and pain of the creature. Bidden by it's call, more of the same species came into the clearing, regarding with simplicity the scene before them.

The thing burrowed completely inside the creature, and released the super cell. Slowly, the host began to change form, until it resembled a walking gas bag with legs. The thing could feel more brethren being created within the host, and reviled in not being alone.

As the other creatures gathered around this new, strange being, the gas bag exploded, sending more of the things flying out in all directions at the creatures. Privative screams echoed through the night as they were cut open and dug into, until suddenly and abruptly the screams stopped.

Where the creatures had once stood were now occupied by six walking gas bags. Slowly, the turned and marched forward, towards the source of the smoke.

Flood's will be done.


	22. Chapter 22

**Part Twenty one: New toys**

"Today's the day John." A voice spoke from a terminal beside his bed.

"We storm the Citadel, and find a way out of here. Nothing more, nothing less." He replied curtly, preparing the leave the room he had slept in for the night.

"But don't you find all of this amazing? The architecture, the technology, the sheer impossibility of it all!"

"Right now Cortana, all I'm concerned with is surviving. Any word on Johnson and the others?"

"No, not yet. And I can't contact them either, that Mendicant Bias is keeping up a strong firewall, presumably to stop the other monitor attacking him again.

"Forerunners have Firewall?" He goaded with a smile on his face.

"You know what I mean chief. Come on now Spartan, the others are waiting for us."

John nodded, and went quiet. It was strange, being reunited with his fellow Spartans, when he had given up hope of seeing them again after being told one the way to Crow's Nest that they were MIA. He loved them as his siblings, but he couldn't help but feel disconnected from them. They shared a tight bondage he had once known too; Halo, the Flood; Sangheilios, everything had changed for him. He had seen too much in his time.

Seeing Mendez and Halsey again was equally disconcerting; especially with Mendez. At the end of his training, when Mendez told him that they would never see each other again, John had steeled himself to block out any emotions he felt for Mendez, who was as close to a father as John would ever get. Not for the first time, he wondered about his real parents. Were they still alive? Probably not, the Covenant had probably killed them long ago. John truly felt alone in the universe.

"I'll always be here Chief." Cortana said softly, and John felt a surge of gratitude.

"I know." He replied, and shook away the depression.

A voice then called over to him.

"Chief! Get over here, we're waiting for you!"

Mendez. The only constant in John's universe, or at least, that's how it was before Cortana. John jogged over.

"Nice to see you awake." That was Fred speaking, only to receive a punch in the arm from Kelly, which would have broken a normal man's arm.

"He must be exhausted Fred, give him a break would you?"

John didn't speak. He had never been able to 'chat' as the other Spartans could, in his opinion, it was meaningless. Linda shared his opinion, a lone wolf.

The Spartan IIIs were also murmuring amongst themselves. They had their helmets off, giving him a clear look at them. They were young, but they were Spartans, no doubt.

He then turned to Mendez.

"Sir, I need a weapon. We all do."

The CPO was quick to reply with a wizened smile upon his gnarled face.

"Not a problem Chief. You and the rest of the Spartans, follow me."

He led them towards a building, worn and weathered. At the entrance of it was a door, probably mechanised, which had been ripped apart by an explosion of sort.

"I found this when we first got here. Looked different from the other buildings, but unfortunately there was this door. Little bit of C4 sorted that out nice and proper."

Mendez shoved against a broken half of the door, and after a moment it gave away.

"And look what I found."

John gasped as he entered, the room was stocked with weaponry; alien, but not Covenant.

"Sir." Cortana said in amazement. "This is Forerunner." It wasn't a question.

"It would seem so." Mendez replied as John went over to a rack and grabbed what looked like a rifle. It looked a lot like a streamlined version of the weapons Sentinels used, it was long, smooth, and had strange couplings running of the butt of the gun and back into the tip of it.

"Why would a village have weapons like these?" He wondered, smacking the gun against his palm. Nice.

"Hell if I know. All I care about is whether or not they shoot. Which they do. Go outside back and try it, I set up some targets the other day when I was testing them."

John complied whilst the other Spartans were grabbing various weapons; heavy, light, melee, there was a who lot of choice.

He stepped onto the ground at the back of the building, and saw Mendez has set up fragments of the door he'd blown up, propped up against some bricks.

The Spartan, without the aid of his Mjolnir, manually lined the sights up with the foremost target, took aim, and fired.

The burst of energy that emitted from the weapon was amazing, immense, clear power, but near no recoil. The burst punched clean through the fragment of Forerunner metal, and straight through the bricks too.

"Wow, now that is nice. Why don't we have anything like that?" Cortana commented wryly from one of the Forerunner hologram terminals.

John stepped to one side as the other Spartans came out with their weapons of choice. Each round fired destroyed the target instantly, some of them vaporising it.

"I'm definitely keeping this." Fred remarked upon his weapon, which resembled a shotgun. Kelly held in her hands two Forerunner pistols, and Linda, as always, had gone for a sniper. It looked menacing. Tom and Lucy both held rifles similar to the ones John held, as did the other threes. Lucy was an enigma to John, not once had she spoken. Perhaps she was shy, although that seemed an odd trait for a Spartan to possess.

Eventually, everyone was kitted out and familiar with their new tools of destruction.

"Well, that's the weapons sorted out. Where exactly is our armour sir?" John asked Mendez, who grimaced.

"The Doctor stole them while you were all sleeping, the Mjolnir _and_ the SPI. Dunno what she's up to, but you can expect it's something good."

*************

"Fleet master, the human ships are pressing hard!" R'tas's right hand Sangheili spoke, and R'tas agreed.

"Indeed they are. Their already mighty ships are but strengthened by the energy shielding we somewhat foolishly dolled out to them. But we have fought shielded ships before, the rebellions within the old Covenant; the traitorous Brutes! We can best these humans, but mere force shall not do so." The Sangheili Fleet master spoke wisely.

"What would you have us do revered one?"

"Load up a lance of Seraphs with power drainers, scores of them. They work on personal shields, why not ones belonging to ships?" R'tas said, even though he himself was unsure of the plan he was formulating. His second in command also hesitated before giving the order.

"Fleet master, power drainers have never been used in such a way. What if your plan should fail?"

"Then we must pull out, and allow the humans to win. I dislike to lose, Sub-Commander," R'tas replied to the Sub-Commander's fears, and after a moment the Elite nodded.

"I understand Fleet master," he said, activating a communications link to the Shadow of Intent's docking bay. "All Seraph pilots, prepare to launch, but first, load up with power drainers, many of them...."

The sub-commanders voice faded to R'tas as he concentrated on the carnage before him. War was raging outside, pointless, useless, yet at the same time necessary war.

The human in charge of the attack was smart, R'tas had to give him that. Which meant _he_ had to be smarter.

"Fleet master, the Seraphs are launching," Sub-Commander Kadavr' told him, and R'tas nodded.

"All Seraphs, prepare for evasive manoeuvres! Charge towards the human flagship, and hold for me orders." The Sangheili leader spoke, and received confirmation from the pilots of the Seraphs.

"Captain sir, we've got Seraphs inbound towards the ship!" Lieutenant Elexni shouted, and Daniels nodded.

"Seraphs? Their weapons won't phase our shields, ignore them Lieutenant, concentrate on the Elite cannons instead," the captain ordered, yet he still couldn't shake off a feeling there was more to the Seraphs than he though. Regardless, there was no way he could order a ceasefire on the capital ships on a suspicion. And so he merely watched with confusion as the Seraphs drew ever closer.

Typical naval combat chatter echoed across the bridge of the flagship _Galapagos_, 'MAC Cannon 1 is off-line', 'Deploying Longswords', 'Launching Archer missile pods!'

But only he knew of the secret weapon the Galapagos possessed. Stored deep within the cargo hold, within a lead casing, was a NOVA bomb. Aptly named, the bomb was capable of destroying entire planets. Daniels had his orders from Lord Eden; in the event that it looked like they were losing, he was to activate the NOVA bomb, jettisoning it into space shortly before jumping through slip space to safety. Only the Galapagos had the recent technology to perform an instantaneous jump however, if activated, the bomb would not only destroy the Elite fleet, but his own. So it was only to be used as a last resort.

Daniels would never have the opportunity to use this last resort however, for at that moment, the Seraphs passed over the UNSC _Galapagos_, and with the order from R'tas Vadum', jettisoned their cargo. Over one hundred activated power drainers fell through zero G, propelled by the momentum of the Seraphs and the artificial gravity of the UNSC Destroyer below. They hit the ship, and the Galapagos was plunged into complete darkness.

"Report!" Captain Daniels shouted through the black veil, suddenly aware the smart AI of the ship had blinked out of existence.

"Captain, I don't know! Nothing is working, none of the computers, shields are down, MAC cannons are disabled, and the engines have blinked out! Sir, we're losing altitude." Lieutenant Elexni screamed, and Daniels could tell she was panicking. He swore, losing altitude wasn't good.

The radio piece in his hat suddenly activated, relying on it's back up power cells, and a swarm of cries instantly sounded in his ear.

"Galapagos, what's going on over there? This is the UNSC Kestrel reporting, you're losing altitude! The Elites..." Static flooded the radio. "...hitting us hard...need....your heavy....come in Galapagos!"

Everything was going badly, Daniels knew. He drew out a torch which he carried on his person, and shouted an order.

"Everyone to the lifeboats, immediately! We're abandoning ship!"

*************

"It worked Fleet master!" Sub-Commander Kadavr' cried, and everyone on the Shadow's bridge cheered in victory. R'tas allowed himself a slight smile.

"With their destroyer neutralised, we can pick off the rest of their ships with ease. Send in boarding parties, try to take the crews alive. We will be hailed as heroes back upon Sangheilios!" R'tas bellowed, prompting another bout of cheering.

"Noble one, I'm picking up human lifeboat signatures departing from the destroyer we disabled, what would you have me do? I have a lance of Vampires ready and willing to take them out."

R'tas held up a hand.

"Have the Vampires take them into custody, no more, no less. Enough blood has been spilt today, I wish not to spill further," he whispered, and Kadavr' frowned ever so slightly before complying with the order. Surely the Fleet master didn't show compassion for these humans?

*************

"Here it is." Halsey pronounced grandiosely, and John gasped. Before him was his armour, as well as the armour belonging to the other Spartans. But they looked...different. Woven into the green plates of his MJOLNIR was pieces of Forerunner alloy, blue beams surged across it occasionally; the suit looked alive. It seemed lighter, and picking it up confirmed the fact.

"MJOLNIR Mark Seven!" Halsey proudly stated, "Well, then again, seeing as how it's not a complete new suit I suppose you could call it six-point-five, but it doesn't matter. I've utilised the vast Forerunner technology in this shield world well, your energy shields are now six times stronger, the plates are tougher, yet they're even more flexible. Enhanced armour to user interaction, this thing will move a long time before you mind decides to."

John fastened it on, it felt a lot less cumbersome. As he secured the modified helmet onto his head, the suit activated fully, and his HUD displayed. It was similar to his old one, but if felt more advanced. The world seemed clearer, and immense power surged through his veins. He noted with surprise that the Forerunner Rifle interfaced with the suit, displaying both ammo count and weapon condition. Taking Cortana's crystal chip, he slotted it into the back of his helmet, and felt the cold rush he always did when the AI interfaced with him.

"Wow, this feels a lot better than that old rust bucket you used to have. A lot like Halo's control centre actually. Hey, it's even got storage space!" Cortana exclaimed, and John smiled at her pleasure, "Finally, somewhere to dump the files on Halo without running the risk of damaging your fleshy brain as I do normally," she finished, and John's smile faded.

"Brain damage?" he asked perceptively, and felt embarrassment emanate from his digital companion. Before she could answer though, Fred interrupted.

"This is all pretty amazing ma'am," Fred began, after he, Kelly and Linda had put on their own suits, "but what about the Spartan III's SPI?"

It was a good point, as Tom, Lucy, Ash, Olivia, and Mark stood at the doorway of the threshold looking hopeful. Halsey pursed her lips.

"I didn't design the SPI, Ackerson did. Only he and the tech staff who worked on it would know how to fully utilise it," the doctor replied, and the 'threes' looked crestfallen for a second, before masking it with a look of cold indifference. Halsey smiled, "however, I managed to add a few new features to it. The one I'm sure you'll appreciate most is the addition of energy shields; not too strong, weaker even than the ones on the Mjolnir mark five, due to the fact your suits power source is a weak one and not even Cortana could gain access to the SPI's internal systems so I could upgrade them, but the shields should be enough to see you through."

"Also, I've upgraded your camouflage systems with Elite technology, you'll be pleased to hear," she continued, relentless, "of course, once again due to the SPI's power source, I had to limit it. So if the enemy concentrates hard, they will see a slight apparition in the air. But it's a large step up from the previous system. I've also toughened up the plates with Forerunner alloy, so you should be able to withstand multiple blasts from the Sentinels now without being blasted to bits."

The third generation of Spartans nodded, and smiles graced their lips. They suited up, and activated the suits. John noted that in their suits too ran the strange beam of power, underneath the plates, barely detectable. Tom activated his camouflage, and John was surprised. Even he, with his super enhanced vision had trouble discerning him. Halsey had made an understatement.

"If the other Spartans had had these...maybe we'd all still be..." Ash muttered, breaking off in mid sentence. Olivia placed her hand upon his shoulder consolingly, and John frowned. Whilst he could understand the young man's pain at losing his brothers, a pain which John knew all too well, it wouldn't bode well for him to lose his cool during a fire fight.

"Are we all ready to attack then?" Linda asked, and John pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"I'd hoped that Johnson and the others would be here by now," he remarked, and then shook his head, "but I suppose it makes no sense to delay. Every day more and more Sentinels are being built."

"Should we move out then sir?" Fred asked him, and John raised his eyebrows within the confines of his helmet.

"If I recall correctly, you're the ranking officer now sir. It's your decision." John noted, and it was true. Fred was now a Lieutenant Junior, higher ranked than his own Master Chief Petty Officer. Fred looked uncomfortable with this.

"Ah yes, I forgot about that..." he remarked. It wasn't that he was unaccustomed to leadership. Over the years, John had entrusted Fred with command of Red team often. But, Fred had to admit, John was a better leader in his eyes. Still, rank was rank, "very well then. Everyone, prepare to move out. Will you be staying here Doctor?"

Halsey looked up, and nodded.

"Yes, I'd just get in the way. I've had basic training, but I'm no Spartan. Don't worry, Mendez will also remain here to protect me. He's not as young as he once was. A brilliant soldier still, but no longer fit to keep up with you Spartans. We'll monitor the situation from here; Cortana will feed us information," the doctor explained, and Mendez nodded. The chief petty officer still seemed resentful though, and John could sympathise.

"Understood," Fred affirmed, and he turned to the others, including John, "right everyone, let's get moving. That citadel won't storm itself."

******************

"Tell me human, what is your name?" R'tas asked, leering down at the officer before him, yet not unkindly.

"Captain Daniels, commander of this fleet," the human replied stiffly, and R'tas's honour guard growled warily. R'tas ignored them.

"And you are the ranking officer present am I to presume?"

The captain hesitated before answering.

"No Fleet master, technically that would be Commander Sam. But he's...not in a very good state of mind at the moment, so I've assumed command. I don't even know if he's still alive. Did you kill him?" Daniels enquired, suddenly feeling sick. R'tas waved his hand absently.

"It is more likely that he is alive than not, my warriors captured as many alive as they could."

Daniels frowned in response to this, stroking his thin beard slightly.

"You're different to most Elites Fleet master. Most would've had us all butchered. What compels you to do this?"

R'tas didn't answer. What could he say? That, despite the ongoing war, he still wanted peace? That he still felt respect for the Spartan and the rest of his race?

Instead, he ignored the human's questions, and turned to answer the FTL communications link, which had been beeping incessantly for over five minutes. R'tas noted with confusion that it was from Sangheilios, on an emergency broadcast channel. It had better be good.

"This is Fleet master R'tas Vadum', what is the problem?"

For a few moments, all that emerged from the other end was static. Then it was cut by a long, drawn out scream. R'tas heard a rustle, and suddenly a Sangheili's voice spoke.

"R'tas, thank the ancients!" the voice cried, "Sangheilios has fallen! It's the....." whatever the Elite had been going to say was drowned out by a wave of static. "...all that's left. Oh lord, they're breaking through! Fleet master, please, help--" the voice cut off, but this time it wasn't static. A feral scream burst through, and a few moments later, it all fell silent. R'tas stood there, before the computer, in shock. The human captain's voice called over.

"Trouble in paradise Fleet master?" the man mocked, and R'tas strode over to him, grabbing the man by the neck. Daniels tried to prise away the Elite's hand, but it was too strong.

"What have you humans done? Why have you attacked Sangheilios? Has this battle been a trick, a diversion?" R'tas bellowed at the man, but all that came as a reply was a muffled scream. R'tas realised he was suffocating the human, and loosened his grip begrudgingly. Daniels fell to the floor on his knees, gasping for air.

"Speak or be forever silenced!" R'tas shouted, holding his energy sword at the captain's neck. Daniels looked up, eyes bulging.

"Fleet master, I assure you that whatever has happened to your 'Sangheilios', humanity had nothing to do with it. To the best of my knowledge anyway. Hell, we don't even know where the hell the planet is!" Daniels cried in defence, struggling to stand. R'tas frowned.

"If you are lying, I will kill every human we hold captive. Do you understand?"

The human nodded, rubbing his neck.

"I'm not lying. I assure you, if we were planning an assault, I would know."

R'tas hesitated, and nodded, sheathing his blade. He turned to Sub-Commander Kadavr'.

"Quick brother, set a course for Sangheilios. We must know what has transpired." The Fleet master ordered.

"We're already on the way honoured one."


	23. Chapter 23

**Part Twenty Two: The Ancient One**

"Entrance is clear; move out." Mark reported, and as one the unit of Spartans crept towards the great doors of the citadel, under the cover of the night. Few Sentinels were patrolling, and so they reached the entrance with no incident.

"Ash, set a satchel charge on that gate." Fred ordered, and the young man nodded, brining out the explosives from a backpack he wore.

"Gladly." Ash complied, and he moved over to the left door. It stood very tall, but it was of no matter. They only needed to blow a Spartan sized hole to gain access to the citadel.

"Breaching..." Ash breathed, attaching the powerful explosives pack to the door. The device began to beep, and after a few seconds it exploded. Luckily, the whirring noises of the Sentinels above drowned out the noise.

"Move out." Fred spoke, and John complied with the superior officer's orders. He smiled faintly at the situation, and irony of it, "Mark, you stay out here and watch our backs. You see any trouble, hide and tell us."

The Spartan III nodded, taking post outside the door.

The Spartan team swarmed through the hole, and emerged within the citadel. Kelly whistled.

"Pretty fancy place." she said, and the others nodded. It was nothing John hadn't seen before, the architecture was very similar to that of Halo's.

"From my experience, Forerunner architecture, while beautiful, is very linear. They usually have the more important facilities of a building higher up." Cortana remarked out loud, and John agreed.

"Understood Cortana. Everyone move up." Fred announced.

John took a good look around the room. There were no stairs, but instead ramps. John wasn't even sure if Forerunner architecture included stairs, he couldn't remember ever seeing them. The team climbed up the eastern ramp of the room, softly and swiftly. They reached the top, and encountered their first problem.

"Multiple hallways..." Fred remarked, following it up with a curse,"but which is the right one? We're gonna have to split up. Master Chief, you take Kelly, Lucy, and Ash down the left hallway, and we'll take the right one. Keep moving up."

John nodded, and his small team moved over to him.

"I hear you blue leader." he said, and his Spartan team moved after him down the left corridor. Kelly fell in next to him as they moved further along, and further away from Fred.

"So, John," she said, using his real name, "how do you feel about Fred being in charge of the squad?"

John kept moving while he pondered the question.

"He's a good leader." he said simply, not wanting to offend anyone. Kelly laughed.

"Always a man of few words right sir?" she replied, shaking her head slightly, "come on, you're not the commanding officer now. You don't need to keep up appearances."

This revelation _did_ stop him, because he was so surprised to hear the simple truth. Kelly was right, there was no need to stay closed up. Not any more.

"I suppose you're right. Fine, I think Fred's a good leader, like I said before. I just hope he can handle this pressure." John admitted, as they climbed up a ramp. He could sense Cortana listening in on the conversation with amusement.

"You don't feel usurped at all? I'm sure, if you'd been at Onyx, Kurt would have promoted you instead."

"Probably," John replied modestly, "but I _wasn't_ at Onyx was I? If I remember correctly, I abandoned you all to go chasing after Halos."

Kelly laughed once again.

"Perhaps we abandoned you. We should have been there with you Chief, we should have been at Halo, the Ark, High Charity, everything. You're the best soldier I know, you never once forgot our duty. Not like us."

John had no answer to this, but Cortana did.

"If anyone here should be blamed, blame Doctor Halsey. She's the one who got you all involved with this place."

"I suppose you're right." Kelly replied, and John could tell she was troubled. He decided to change the subject.

"So Lucy, what's your story?" he called back over his shoulder, only to have Ash cough awkwardly.

"Ah, Lucy doesn't speak Master Chief. Not any more."

"Oh? Was she injured?" John replied curiously, concerned about her well-being.

"It's nothing physical sir, it's just shock, if Tom told me correctly." Ash replied, glancing over at Lucy whilst he did so.

John needed no further explanation. It was a sad truth that some soldiers, after seeing too much, just snapped. It was surprising that Lucy was still in active duty, and not a mental hospital.

"Well, perhaps one day she'll--" he began to reply, only to cut off in mid sentence, "watch out, Sentinel up ahead!" he whispered over a secure, undetectable channel. The Spartans instantly hit the ground, although it was probably unnecessary for Ash and Lucy to do the same, camouflaged as they were.

The sudden movement alerted the Sentinel however, and it drifted over. It was a lot bigger than the ones John had previously allied, and subsequently fought with.

"Threat analysis level - amber." the Sentinel spoke in a gravelly voice, "scanning hallway."

John hugged the floor, but it was no good. The Sentinel detected him, and floated right up to his face. John wasted no time, firing multiple blasts from his new rifle even as he lay on the surface of the ramp. The beams hit the Sentinel square on, and after a few seconds of sustained fire, it's shields dropped. The Sentinel retaliated with a blast of it's own, hitting John square in the chest as he strove to stand. His improved shields didn't even drop down by half. John smashed the Drone's red lens with the butt of his rifle, cracking it. He drew out a grenade, pulled the pin, and stuffed it within the cracked hollow of the lens.

"Jump!" he ordered the other Spartans, minus Kelly who had blurred past him moments ago, and they all dove out of the way before the grenade exploded in a flash of blue light, destroying the Sentinel.

"Nice move sir, you were nearly as quick as me then." Kelly remarked, standing triumphantly over the shattered remains of another Sentinel further along the hallway. John smiled, Kelly had always been quicker than him, quicker than any other Spartan, or sentient life form. She could outrun a Covenant Banshee if she needed to. She had too, in the past.

The small squad moved through the hallways of the citadel swiftly, dispatching the various Sentinels as they did so. The two Spartan IIIs, Ash and Lucy, worked well together. Better even than the IIs worked together.

"There's a doorway, up ahead." John noted finally, and saw a holographic switch near it. As always, without knowing how, John activated the switch, as if by some primal instinct, and the door slid open. Ash whistled in awe.

"I guess this is the penthouse of the place huh?" he spoke, looking around. It truly was beautiful, a large room announced with decoration: a pond in the corner of the room, with strange fish swimming around in them, alien birds flying beneath the tall, glass ceiling, shrubbery and trees, it was all very nice.

"There must be something in here that can help us get out of this sphere. Ash, Lucy, you go search the left of the room, Kelly, you go look in the right, and I'll head up front. Fred and his team should be hear shortly." John ordered, and the Spartans nodded. He himself slung the rifle upon his back, perceiving no threats, and strode forward.

"If we don't find anything, let's just say I'll be annoyed." Cortana remarked briskly.

"I'm sure we will." John replied reassuringly, and his AI companion was content, for then at least.

The front of the room was rather bare, to say the least. Nothing except a few ornate shrubs, and a small pond in the corner. Nothing that could show them how to leave the Dyson sphere.

The wall, at the northernmost part of the room however, looked strange. Out of place. The rest of the walls had various moss growing upon them, and cracks. Even Forerunner buildings succumbed to the might of time eventually, and this citadel didn't seem to have a monitor to keep things in order like the Halo rings. And so the fact that this particular wall looked as if it had been built yesterday unnerved John.

Apprehensively, he reached out with his armoured hand, and gently tried to brush his fingers against the wall. He _tried_. To his surprise however, his fingers passed through the wall, as if it weren't there. He could still feel them though, and wiggled them in experimentation, and wriggle they did.

"Now this is certainly interesting," Cortana said wryly, "well Spartan, are you gonna stand there all day moving your fingers or are you gonna see what's on the other side of the mountain? Metaphorically speaking of course."

John needed no further prompting, and with a held breath, he stepped through the fake wall, and emerged in another room. This room seemed holier though, more pure. Time had not seemed to ravage it.

The room itself was completely filled to the brim with only one thing; stasis pods. Scores of them. Not like the cryogenic pods the UNSC used, but nigh upon identical to the prisons the Spartan III Team Katana were sealed in. Cortana gasped.

"Chief, could these be--?"

"Forerunners." he completed. Something didn't seem right though, and so John drew out his rifle warily.

One particular stasis pod seemed dominant in the room, situated in the epicentre of it. Next to it was one of the familiar Forerunner switches he was accustomed to.

"Well?" he asked Cortana as he walked over to it.

"Unseal that casket chief." she intoned, curious. Bidden, John moved his hand towards the terminal, and felt it rest upon the mechanism. He once again instinctively moved his fingers across it, and suddenly the stasis pod came alive. John couldn't see through the looking glass' opaque surface, and so drew closer to the pod as it opened, keeping his rifle aimed at it.

Quicker than even Kelly could have done, a hand shot out, and grabbed John by his neck.

"Chief!" Cortana cried in fear as he felt himself hoisted up in the air. The grip was like that of a titan's. Impossibly, the dense metal around John's neck began to crumple as the grip tightened ever-more, and John felt himself begin to choke.

The assailant climbed out of the pod fully, and John appraised it. The distinctly humanoid figure seemed to be wearing what looked like a very sleek, very advanced suit of Mjolnir armour, but different colours. It was less of an armour and more of an extension of the skin. The armour itself was a dark hue of blue, whilst the visor's colour was that of platinum.

All of this was lost upon John though, as his oxygen starved brain cried for mercy. His sight blurred, and he felt Cortana fade, as his brain shut her out, to save what little energy it possessed..

The platinum visor was looking at him speculatively. The figure was slightly taller than John, but perhaps smaller than an Elite. Yet the attacker had no problem lifting John and his heavy suit of Mjolnir in the air with but one hand. Only another Spartan was capable of such a feat, yet this was no Spartan. The figure then spoke, in John's language.

"I see the Gravemind has seen fit to send one of it's abominations of life into this last sanctuary, although quite why it has ordained you in such archaic armour is lost upon me. What sent you in here? Was it that interloper Mendicant Bias? Your vile master will be disappointed, I am all that remains now. There are no more hosts for it to feast upon." the voice sounded like a chorus of angels, yet clearly male.

The last part was true about Mendicant Bias, but clearly the figure, who John presumed to be a Forerunner, thought him to be a Flood form of some kind, wearing armour. John tried to tell the Forerunner otherwise, yet he found himself quite unable to speak. Not surprising, seeing as how he couldn't breathe. A normal human would have suffocated by now. John still had some strength though.

He gathered this small reserve of strength, and lashed out with his leg. He was rewarded with contact on the Forerunner's chest, and the figure was thrown to the floor, and John likewise dropped to the floor, landing sharply on his knees. He tasted blood.

John quickly struggled to his feet, and rose in time to see the already recovered Forerunner pick him up, and throw him down to the floor again. John managed to roll back up to his feet once again swiftly though, and held up his hands in a halting motion.

The Forerunner stopped in his tracks, but kept it's arms poised for combat. John wheezed, and rubbed his throat.

"Calm--" he began, before coughing vigorously, "calm down. I'm not what you think I am. I'm a friend."

This seemed to puzzle the Forerunner even more.

"Impossible. All that's left now are those on the Ark, and the vile flood. I'm all that's left of my race. You lie," he accused of John. The being clearly believed that all was as it had been when he had entered that pod. John shook his head.

"No; no I'm not a Forerunner. And I'm not one of the Flood. I'm a human," he explained.

"A human? Our chosen future Reclaimers? Impossible, humanity has not even developed primitive speech yet." the Forerunner replied sceptically.

"You must have been in that pod for a long time. Humanity is thriving, or it was before the Covenant war." John explained, finally managing to remove his helmet. The Forerunner stopped protesting as he beheld John's face.

"By the Precursors, you speak the truth! Reclaimer..." he said, walking over to John. Somewhat surprisingly, the Forerunner embraced John fiercely. A world away from the conflict a few moments ago.

"All this time, I thought I'd destroyed all life in the galaxy, in order to stop _it_. But it seems I was wrong, my beloved Librarian succeeded in sending you to the Ark. My dear, dear Librarian, Precursors bless her soul. Thank you for saving me from this eternal torment my dear son." the Forerunner cried out, and John shied away in embarrassment.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean Forerunner, but I'm sure Mendicant Bias can fill you in, once he decides to stop speaking in riddles." John fastened the helmet back onto his head, and was aware of Cortana's conciousness returning. She chose to be silent and listen though.

"Nothing to say?" John questioned silently, slightly confused.

"Hey, you two were engaged in mortal combat just a minute ago. Hearing a voice from within your head may make him suspicious again. I'll wait.

"Mendicant Bias? He is here?" the Forerunner exclaimed wildly, looking around the room.

"Well, not in this room, but--" John began to explain, only to be cut off.

"No, you don't understand. Mendicant Bias is allied with the Gravemind. Ah, I get ahead of myself, you must not even know what the Gravemind is."

"Actually, I do. I think I killed it. But anyway, Mendicant's turned over a new leaf, he's 'atoning for his sins', as he puts it."

"You killed the Gravemind? Are you sure? How did you--" the Forerunner questioned, and John held up a hand.

"Hold on a sec, I can't answer all your questions at once. Just who are you anyway Forerunner?" John queried, suddenly suspicious. This person had, after all, attacked him just moments before.

"Ah, my son, I'm sorry for piling you with questions. I am hungry for news, after all this time. But you are right, I can wait. My name, dear boy, is the Didact."

"Alright, Didact, should we open the other pods?" John asked indicating the thousands upon thousands of pods in the room, and the Didact shook his head wearily.

"No need to. They're all dead."


	24. Chapter 24

**Part Twenty Three - Rampant**

"Forerunners above, how has this happened? Sangheilios, dear, dear Sangheilios." R'tas wailed, as he beheld his Flood infested home world from the observation deck of _Shadow of Intent_.

The planet looked as if it were alive, a writhing mass of tentacles and biomass. Everywhere was infected, the Flood had left no where untarnished. Just above the planet, Flood ships patrolled the area. R'tas was glad they were on the dark side of the planet.

"Bad luck Fleet master." Captain Daniels spoke, with no real sympathy in his voice. R'tas turned upon the manacled human in sudden anger.

"Bad luck? This is a catastrophe! This is our homeworld human, infested by the Parasite! A little more than bad luck."

"How the tables have turned eh Elite? It wasn't too long ago that Earth was infested by the Flood too, and sure, you guys helped. Helped by ravaging half a continent, and then buggering off to the Ark whilst we nervously awaited the arrival of a Flood army, knowing that there was no way we could hold them off. It's just lucky that High Charity passed straight through the portal when it arrived at Earth. One small ship, and we would have been screwed. I'll quote what you said when we asked for your help shall I? 'Your world is doomed'." Daniels replied just as angrily, and the rage present upon R'tas' features subsided, to be replaced by shame.

"I'm. . . sorry for that human, but the bastard Truth was a far greater threat at the time."

"You could have left a ship or two at Earth R'tas, don't lie. From what I hear, the Master Chief did most of the work at the Ark anyway."

"You hear wrong then human, our ships were engaged with those of Truth's. Without our support at the Ark, the Spartan would have been wiped out."

"Don't dig yourself any deeper R'tas, you could have sent your ships back through the portal after the fleet had been dealt with. But you didn't, you still held a grudge against us humans didn't you? And you have the gall to say _we_ triggered this recent war. We watched, R'tas. Watched as High Charity entered Earth's atmosphere. And all the time, we were cursing the Elites, thinking we were all dead. We easily could have been," the captain replied, and R'tas growled, even though deep down he knew the human was right.

"Let us not dwell on past incidents. I have not the fire-power to halt this infestation, the scout ship I sent down but an hour ago was shot down instantly by the potent Sangheilios planetary defences., which the Flood has activated. The Parasite has already begun to infect the other worlds in this system, and soon they shall branch out sooner. We must contain them. It is time for our war to end, captain. We shall retreat for now, and go to Earth. I will use you and your crew as hostages, guaranteeing us safe passage. Then I shall attempt to form another treaty, in light of the recent events here." R'tas explained, and Daniels shook his head with a sad smile.

"Don't count on our help R'tas. Humanity isn't all that forgiving."

*************

"No." Lord Eden told R'tas Vadum', a lazy smile upon his lips.

"No? Are you insane human, this is the parasite we are talking about here! We must wipe them out before--"

"We've defeated the Flood before Elite, and we did it with little assistance from you. Now tuck your tail between your legs and get the hell out of this solar system, you bastard. You're on your own." Eden replied to the Elite Fleet master's protesting, and the men around him cheered. The Elite's eyes went livid, and R'tas clenched his fist.

"I must press upon you the seriousness of this situation human, the parasite--"

Lord Eden had heard enough of the Elite's drivel, and clicked his fingers. The ODSTs around him instantly snapped to attention, and over thirty laser sights suddenly appeared upon R'tas's chest.

"Are you deaf as well as idiotic Elite? I told you to leave, now. And don't think about gutting me like you did with that fool Hood. If you so much as sneeze in my direction, these men will pump you full of lead faster than the mucus from your nose touches me," not a very pleasant analogy, but it was brutal, and so Eden liked it.

Tears welled up in R'tas's eyes, he needed the human's help. He couldn't abandon Sangheilios to the Flood.

"Please Lord Eden, I beg you! Help us, please!" the Fleet master pleaded, and the Sangheili around him looked at each other uncertainly. There was no honour to be found in begging.

"Men, kill his right hand man please," Eden ordered dispassionately, "maybe that will show this disgrace of a leader that when I say something, I mean it."

The hell jumpers nodded, switching their weapon sights to Sub-Commander Kadavr'. The surprised Kavadr's jaw dropped in horror.

"Wait, no!" R'tas shouted out, but his voice was drowned out by the surge of gunfire that suddenly rained upon the Sub-Commander. The Elite's shields held for a few moments, before they dropped. Kadavr' dropped to the deck of the human ship, dead.

"I hope you understand the message I'm trying to give you now. Leave, before I decide to have you all massacred."

"You cold blooded killer! You will pay for that human!" R'tas growled, indicating for the Honour Guards behind him to gather Kadavr's corpse. He wouldn't be left here. "I should have killed your men rather than save them!"

"Perhaps you should have. But you didn't, because you, and the rest of your kind, are weak. And war, Elite, has no place for weakness. Good day sir." Eden smiled lazily, taking another sip from his glass. R'tas opened his two remaining mandibles wide, smacking them together as they closed. A profound insult amongst his kind. He then signalled to his Elites, and as one the group left, carrying to still bleeding corpse of the Sub-Commander. One of the Honour Guard sidled next to him, whispering as they walked back to the Phantom docked in the human ship's bay.

"Noble one, we cannot fight the Flood alone! We need help, perhaps another human Admiral might--"

"Nay," R'tas cut in, holding up a clenched hand, "that Lord Eden's name is law amongst the humans, we will find no sympathy here. Fear not brother, we shall get help."

"Oh? From who, if you permit me to say R'tas. You know as well as I do that the colonies will do little to strengthen our Fleet." The Honour Guard replied. R'tas could hear the anguish in his voice, Kadavr' had been his brother.

"We will go to the colonies, but you are right, they will help little. If we are to defeat the Flood, we will need allies. We will go to the Covenant, what remains of it. The Prophets and Brutes will have to understand our plight."

Lord Eden watched the Elites board their landing craft through narrowed eyes, and grimaced. Things were becoming dire.

"Sir," one of his Ensigns told him quietly, "MAC guns are charged and ready, we can shoot that flagship out of the sky if you wish it."

Eden's brow furrowed, and his knuckles turned white as he grasped the glass he held ever tighter, so much so that a tiny crack appeared down the side.

"Why ever would I do that Ensign Hartridge? No, I promised them safe passage in return for their prisoners," he replied, rubbing his temples, "I stick by my promises. Let them leave. Once every last one of their ships has departed, prepare the Fleets. All of them."

The officers on the deck of the _Soul of ice_ stared at Eden in perplexity. Captain Daniels, who was standing next to the UNSC leader, cleared his throat and spoke.

"All of them sir? Whatever for?"

Eden stared at Daniels like he'd gone mad.

"Did you not hear R'tas captain? The Flood have returned."

"I know that sir, I saw it. But with all due respect, you told the Elites, rather forcefully I might add--"

"I know what I said!" Eden barked, and Daniels flinched, "we're going to Sangheilios, and we're going to wipe out everything there, the Flood, _and_ the Elites. We leave in two weeks, it will take that long to recall all the ships from the colonies. And then we will strike. Once again, humanity shall be the rulers of the stars, and this time, nothing shall get in our way."

***********************

"Dead? All of them? How?" John asked of the Didact, who was looking around the room with narrowed eyes.

"Perhaps dead isn't the apt word, although they may as well be," the Didact replied, facing John once again. "This room is a safe house, nestled in slip space. When I...when I fired Halo, at the fourth Installation, the Flood were all around us. It was all I could do to activate it before we were overwhelmed. I managed to do so, and the emergency protocol was activated."

"I was sealed within slip space, to safe me from Halo's fire, and mine, and the thousands of other loyal soldiers buying me time, had our bodies sealed in these pods. Alas, it was too late for them, the infection of the vile Flood had already begun to take hold. All that reside in these pods are no longer Forerunner; they belong to the Gravemind now."

"So you are the last of your kind?" John asked. The Forerunner sighed, and removed his helmet, nodding. John gasped.

The Didact looked human, nearly. There were subtle differences, but none that would be noticed outright. There was a certain noble look to his brow, his face looked timeless, pure almost. The Forerunner's eyes were elongated like a cat's, and had a certain weariness about them.

"We...look like you?" The Spartan asked, drawing closer to the alien, yet familiar looking being. The Didact's ears were tapered, and smooth. He looked very much like a fantastical elf, which baffled John.

"Perhaps it is we that look like you Reclaimer." The Forerunner replied ambiguously, smiling.

John was about to reply with another question, when the air in front of him shimmered. Suddenly, a being who looked not unlike Mendicant Bias appeared between him and the Didact, although John instantly knew it was not him.

"And here was me thinking I'd lost him..." Cortana whispered out loud, and the Artificial Intelligence swivelled towards John. It's lens was a bright red, which unnerved John. The last monitor to have a red lens had shot him with a laser.

"You should not be here Reclaimer. This is my domain, and I would not have you disturb it." The monitor spoke in a gravelly voice, and it seemed to grow in size as it did so.

"Fear not Offensive Bias, all is well." the Didact spoke to the AI, a smile gracing his lips, yet Offensive Bias did not turn around.

"You, and your AI companion are a security breach, no doubt sent by the Flood." Offensive accused, and all around the Master Chief lights tinkled as Sentinels descended from the ceiling, forming a circle around him. He grew uneasy, and drew out his rifle, assessing the danger.

"Uh, Didact?" John asked, surprised to hear his voice quaver nervously.

"Bias, what is the meaning of this? Stand down at once!" The Forerunner barked, and John heard uncertainty in his voice too. This did little to alleviate his fears. Offensive Bias slowly turned around, and faced the Didact.

"I shall not, creator of mine. This sphere, and all who reside within it, belongs to _me._ You era passed the moment you touched Installation 04's control panel, _Didact_.

The Sentinels drew closer, their own lenses red too.

"Chief, I think we should leave. Now." Cortana ordered him, and John slowly back towards the wall he had walked through to enter the room. His back felt solid resistance though, rather than the empty feeling he had experienced before.

"Not good. Didact! How do we get out of here?" the Master Chief shouted over at the Didact, who was still barking override commands to no effect. The Forerunner had drawn his own weapon now, and had it aimed squarely at the monitor. He didn't reply.

"Leave? Nay Reclaimer, you shall die." Offensive Bias called over, although the call seemed to originate from John's mind.

The Sentinels converged on him, the tips of them glowing white as they prepared to fire their weapons. There was no way John's shields could withstand so many blasts. He turned around in despair, and punched the wall behind him, hoping his hand would pass through as it did before. But all he encountered was stiff, unforgiving metal.

"Kill it." Bias ordered, and John braced for the end. The Didact was looking over helplessly. He may be as strong as a Spartan, but he certainly wasn't one. If it were Fred, Kelly, or Linda in his place, they would have acted as soon as the monitor had appeared.

As one, the Sentinels fired at John.


	25. Chapter 25

**Part 24 -- The Covenant  
**  
Erebus walked through the gilded corridors of _Placid Enrichment_, a nervous look upon his face. At his side walked two Bodyguards, young by his species' standards. The young Jirahanae had not yet learned to control the pheromones they naturally gave off, and so the Brute ship master could clearly smell the stench of fear upon them. And rightly so.

But a tenth of a unit ago, Elite ships had entered the last remnant of Covenant space. They had a small enough fleet, but it was in likelihood simply a scouting party, mere ants before the inevitable armada that would soon follow.

Erebus's ship, which was patrolling the rim of the small asteroid cluster the shattered remains of the Covenant now resided in, had identified the presence of the fleet immediately. Erebus had immediately departed for _Placid Enrichment_ in his personal Seraph, where he now was obliged to inform the holy Prophets, and the Chieftain of the Brutes, Daedalus, of the nearby threat.

It was all trivial anyway, whilst it was true that the Covenant still possessed some ships, captained by those who had not been crazy enough to follow the zealot Truth on his suicidal mission to the Ark, the small fleet was no match for the might of the Elites, and their ships, which numbered in the hundreds. Not to mention the fact that the humans were in league with the Elites now, or so the Covenant's spies had reported some months ago, before retreating to the asteroid vale, where they hoped to remain undisturbed.

Evidently, the Elites had different ideas. You couldn't blame them really, not after the genocide the Brutes had been ordered to commit upon them, at the long dead Prophet of Truth's orders. They wanted vengeance, which was understandable. Erebus but hoped he would die honourably in combat, rather than as a result of a ship being blown up.

The Brute looked around the corridor of _Placid Enrichment_, sighing. Whilst not on the same scale as High Charity had been, the Covenant's second most holy city held a certain reverence to it. It was terrible that soon, it would all be but ashes and dust.

The Brute Honour Guard at the entrance to the Prophet's chambers stood aside as Erebus approached. They knew of him, and so had no need to ask for identification. He walked through the sliding doors, and entered the hall.

The Covenant was no longer ruled by just the Prophet's, however, Erebus reminded himself. Indeed, after the fall of Truth and his co-rulers, Regret and Mercy, the High Council had decided that it would be wise to have a Brute lead the Covenant, alongside two elderly, wise Prophets, the Prophet of Sanctity, and the Prophet of Equanimity.

And so Daedalus, the oddly intelligent Chieftain of the Brutes, ascended the throne along with Sanctity and Equanimity. It was these three Erebus stood before now. Whilst both Sanctity and Equanimity resided in gravity defying chairs, Daedalus opted to sit in a stone throne, claiming that the hard, straight rock, which was uncomfortable to both sit and rest upon, would remind him of his duty to the Covenant.

"Shipmaster, I hear that you have news for us." Daedalus rumbled, his braided beard bouncing up and down.

"Speak your mind dear child." the elderly Sanctity intoned, motioning with his hand in the manner of the Prophets.

"Noble ones," Erebus began, kneeling before the leaders, crossing an arm across his power armoured chest, "I have grave, disturbing news. The Sangheili have entered this asteroid belt. My ships saw them, and immediately I embarked for _Placid Enrichment_, to inform you personally. It won't be long now before they discover the location of this holy city. I fear the Covenant, shall be broken."

The news shocked both Daedalus and Sanctity, and the colour drained from their faces. Daedalus tightened his grip around the stone armrests of his chair, which cracked ever so slightly. Equanimity, however, merely nodded gravely, and then spoke,

"Long have we known this day would come, ever since Truth fell at the Ark. It has but been a matter of when. How many ships?" the noble Prophet asked, keeping his composture.

"My ships picked up but ten holy Prophets, a mere inclination of what is to come." Erebus replied stiffly, a sad look gracing his fur matted face.

"We should ready the defences." Daedalus spoke half heartedly, knowing deep down that nothing the Covenant possessed now would stand against the Elites. The fleet of Placid Enrichment had but forty ships, where the Elites likely numbered hundreds. Even were they to possess as many, or even more ships than the Elites, they would still lose to the far superior Elite Zealots who commanded the ships. The fact that at the Ark, R'tas Vadum's fleet had defeated Truth's, which possessed more than three times the ships his did, spoke measures.

"Yes, yes we should. Daedalus, would you take charge of the defence of this city, and her fleet?" Sanctity breathed, looking sadly at the Chieftain of the Brutes, who nodded.

"It would be an honour." Daedalus replied to the two Prophets, who smiled emptily. The Brute stood up, towering over Erebus, at nearly ten feet tall. Intelligent, powerful, and compassionate. As brilliant a leader as the Covenant could ever have hoped for. Yet it was all irrelevant.

The Chieftain of the Brutes reached for the ancient, divine weapon of the Brutes, _the Fist of Rukt_, passed down by generations of Brute clans. After Daedalus and his Brutes had recovered the large hammer from Halo whilst the Elites and humans had been occupied at the Ark, battling through waves of Flood to reach it, Daedalus had taken the _Rukt_ as his own, rightly so, seeing as how Tartarus had been his cousin.

"Ship master," Daedalus spoke to Erebus, lifting the _Fist of Rukt_ with one, gargantuan hand, "come with me, you shall assist me in co-ordinating this last stand."

"The Jiralhanae will not go down without a fight."

*********************

Time slowed for John. Everything went quiet, and out of focus. As a Spartan, he had always remarked that sometimes, in events of extreme stress, time itself seemed to slow down, so much so that he could pluck a bullet out of the air as it moved towards him.

This feeling was...similar, but not quite the same. He saw the lasers fire from the Sentinel weapons, but the beams of light moved slowly. Not wasting any time, John side stepped out of the way, aware that he had just moved faster than the speed of light. Perhaps the fact that this room was in slip space attributed to that.

He un-shouldered his own rifle, and aimed it at the Sentinels flying above. Time quickened again, and the lasers fired moments before blasted harmlessly against the wall. The Sentinels drew back , confused, wondering how the target could have evaded them.

They didn't have much time to process this anomaly though, for John immediately retaliated with a volley of his own fire, which smashed into the drones, destroying them. The AI named Offensive Bias turned around, the light in it's lens widening in shock.

"How very interesting Reclaimer, it would seem there is more to you than I originally thought. But mark my words, you will die today. Farewell."

And with that, the monitor vanished, leaving John and the Didact to stand in the room surrounded by broken machines.

"What was that?" John asked of the Didact, who was stood in shock. The Forerunner quickly regained his composure though, and turned towards John.

"Offensive Bias, one of my creations. It would seem he has fallen into rampancy, a side effect from the aggression I built into him. This is a problem."

"Why did it leave though?" John replied.

"Perhaps he thought we would be able to overcome him together. Perhaps he--hold on, what's that noise?" the Didact suddenly questioned; John heard it too. A hissing sound, like pressure being released. The noise echoed around the room, and John realised it was the sound of the pods being unsealed.

"Didact, that Offensive Bias unsealed those pods." John warned, backing against the wall. The pod doors were sliding away now.

"This isn't good. All the residents within the pods have been infected by the Flood."

Mottled hands reached flew out of the tubes, and groans began to fill the room, screaming, shouting. John felt uneasiness began to creep upon him; he was, deep down, afraid of the Flood. Terrified of them.

As one, the army of Flood dropped to the floor; thousands of them. They shook their gruesome heads, moving their misshapen mouths around, flexing their decayed arms. Thankfully, none of them had weapons upon them, otherwise John and the Didact would have been in real trouble.

The infected Forerunners looked around the room, and their eyes snapped upon before he and the Didact. They began to shuffle forward slowly. Strange, John had seen how fast the Flood could run, and jump. Each one was nearly, athletically, like a Spartan.

"Technically, the infection forms within the hosts haven't had long to assimilate with the new bodies; and being kept in stasis for this long will have weakened the infection cell. They are but a fraction of what they could be." the Didact explained, backing towards John. It did little to alleviate the Spartan's fears; Flood were Flood.

"Consume...all...ravage...devoured...I...planet...fall.. .before us..." the Flood crowd rumbled in their gravelly voices. Wait, they were speaking?

"I thought the Flood couldn't speak unless they were connected to a Gravemind." John phrased to the Didact, who stiffened.

"They can't. Are you sure you killed the central intelligence Reclaimer?" the Forerunner replied, loosing off a shot at a Flood form. The beam of energy impacted upon the body, spraying bio-mass over it's brethren, who continued moving on regardless.

"Positive." John confirmed, firing his own weapon. It was no good, where he killed one, another would take it's place. Eventually, they would be forced into a corner and be overwhelmed by the horde of Flood.

"Then perhaps events have transpired since you have entered this last haven of mine..."

"Talk later, shoot now." John ordered, and the Didact nodded.

Combat form after combat form fell, yet the Flood pressed on, relentless. They were moving a little faster now, as the infection forms within grew used to their new bodies.

"Damn it, what do we do?" John asked the Didact.

"Have faith my son, we shall prevail."

Another religious zealot! John thought in desperation. Faith wouldn't get them through this, the only thing John believed in was the gun in his hands, his own body, and Cortana. Speaking of which...

"Cortana, any thoughts?" the Spartan directed to her.

_"I'm working on it Chief. Offensive Bias has sealed this room, otherwise I'd access the teleportation grid and get us out of here. Like on Halo."_

_Well work faster_, John thought, sweat pouring down his brow. One Flood form seemed to have full control of it's body now, as it suddenly launched itself through the air, a long, powerful arm raised. John dove out of the way of the infected, and rose, meeting the combat form with a kick through it's stomach.

The Flood humanoid staggered back, before surging forward and retaliating with a thwack of it's arm, taking John's shields down by half. The Spartan smashed a hand through the beast's fleshy stomach, feeling sick, felt the bubble like body of the Infection Form within, and squeezed, popping it. The Combat Form instantly collapsed, dead.

It wouldn't be long before the rest of the horde gained full manoeuvrability now, and overwhelmed the two defenders.

"Hurry up Cortana..." John pressed, firing off ever more shorts.

_"I'm trying Chief! This encryption, it's like nothing I've seen before. Give me ten minutes."_

"Ten minutes?!? Cortana, we don't even have thirty seconds. Hurry up."

They were doomed, John knew it. Emotion was spilling from Cortana, grief as she realised that she couldn't save him in time. She was failing in her duty, and it hit her hard.

Just before all hope was lost, a shimmer of golden light flashed in front of John. His heart sunk, thinking it to be Offensive Bias, come to gloat. Instead, he got an odd surprise.

"Ah, Reclaimer! I have been searching all over this facility's matrices for you. And creator, how excellent to see you alive and well." 343 Guilty Spark cried at John and the Didact, humming happily.

"Spark?" John asked, flabbergasted. The Didact glanced over with some surprise, and returned to keeping the Flood at bay with his weapon.

"Yes, it is me. I apologise for my rampant behaviour upon Installation 04 II Reclaimer, but I was in dire need of repair. Fortunately, all my subroutines are now fixed, and I live only to serve."

The Monitor had all it's attention focused upon John, and so was oblivious to the roaring Flood armour behind him.

"Spark! Cut the chatter, look behind you." John ordered, and the Monitor of Installation 04 complied.

"Oh my." Guilty Spark stated bluntly, it's light dimming slightly as it beheld the sheer number of Flood forms pressing.

"Yes, 'oh my'. Can you get us out of here?"

"Analysis indicates that this room has been shut off by a hostile, possibly rampant entity. However, with the help of your construct, I can, in all probability, override it. Ho hum."

How did the monitor know that John had Cortana upon his person? It was a question that would have to wait for later however, right now they had more pressing matters.

"Do it Cortana." John ordered the AI, and he felt reluctance from her. Fair enough, considering all Spark had done, but right now survival was the priority, "Now!"

"Yes sir Master Chief." she complied sadly, linking her presence with that of the Monitor's. John felt a sudden icy shiver, and realised that Spark had just entered his mind, in the same way Cortana did.

"Your architecture is incredibly strange Reclaimer." Spark spoke from within, in his annoying, chirpy voice.

"Don't get any funny ideas. Just get us out of here."

"At once Reclaimer. Please, grab the arm of my creator, and hold on tight." the Monitor told him, and John grabbed the Didact's arm, who looked faintly surprised.

All the Flood forms were running now, in mere seconds they would reach them. They raised their arms, preparing to strike...

...and swiped empty air. Their prey had disappeared.

***************************

"_Hail, Brutes and Prophets! This is the Elite carrier Shadow of Intent. We do not come with hostile intentions. You have my word as a warrior upon that._"

"Does he speak the truth?" Erebus asked of Daedalus as they both stood by a communications dock, receiving the Elite message. Daedalus folded his broad arms thoughtfully.

"Elites do not lie, ship master. It speaks the truth. Allow it to dock at Placid Enrichment, but only that ship. The rest must remain out of their weapon range." the Chieftain of the Brutes ordered, a thoughtful look upon his furred face. Erebus nodded, and bent down to send a reply.

"You may dock in this holy city Intent, but the remaining ships you have in your convoy must hold fast."  
_  
"My thanks to you, Brute. Prepare to accept us, we are approaching."_

Daedalus had recognised the voice as belonging to R'tas Vadum'ee, leader of the Elite Separatists. That the Elites had come with peaceful intentions had startled him, and left him suspicious. Regardless, this was fortuitous, and he would be a fool to deny the Elites access. He hefted _the Fist of Rukt_, and marched down to the docking level of the city, where he would meet the Elites in person.

"Noble Prophets," he growled into his mouthpiece, communicating Sanctity and Equanimity, "the Elites, it seems, have not come to destroy us after all. Indeed, one of their carriers is now approaching the docking bay with peaceful intent. Your presence shall be required."

_"Of course Chieftain, this is indeed an interesting turn of events. We shall meet you there." _Sanctity replied with curiosity.

"By the Covenant's will." Daedalus spoke, signing off.

One sixth of a unit later, Daedalus had arrived at the docking bay. According to the Honour Guards there, the Shadow of Intent had docked by a minute ago, and the Elites had yet to leave their ship. The Chieftain of the Brutes signalled for the guards to accompany him, and walked down a flight of stairs to the exit of the ship. A moment later, the huge door cracked open, and a convoy of five Sangheili walked down. Daedalus heard a hovering noise behind him, as Sanctity and Equanimity joined him.

"Hail!" R'tas Vadum'ee cried, raising his hand solemnly.

"Hail." Daedalus replied along with Sanctity and Equanimity. None of them raised their own hands. R'tas and his four Honour Guards met the Covenant leaders, and R'tas looked up at the towering Daedalus with thinly disguised amusement. He then turned to both Sanctity and Equanimity, speaking.

"Do only two Hierarchs rule the Covenant now?" R'tas asked, breaking the ice. Daedalus frowned.

"Nay, Elite. I am the third Hierarch." the Chieftain of the Brutes rumbled, drawing himself up to full height. R'tas noticed the sharp glint of intelligence within his eye.

"Truly? Were it that the old Covenant had such a diversity of race as Hierarchs, perhaps the schism could then have been avoided." R'tas commented, "you look well Sanctity."

"Then my looks must be deceiving, for I am rattled with great strife, former Honour Guard of mine. I never did truly understand why you left my service to join the special operations unit R'tas, I had thought us friends." the elderly Prophet replied to the Elite Fleetmaster's pleasantries.

"We were friends, Prophet. And perhaps we can be once again. Is there anywhere more private we can go? I dislike talking amongst all these onlookers." R'tas questioned, indicating the numerous Brutes and minor Prophets, as well as the various 'loyalist' Jackals, Grunts and Hunters, all who were surveying the interesting scene before them.

"Yes, my quarters should do fine." Equanimity agreed, and then turned to Daedalus, "would you be so kind as to lead the way Chieftain? I would myself, but I fear the rush of questioners may overwhelm me. They would not dare, I think, with one such as yourself leading the way."

The Brute Chieftain nodded wisely, turning his back reluctantly upon the Elites and marching towards the Prophet of Equanimity's quarters. As he marched up the stairs with the two Prophets, and Elites behind him, he was instantly met with a rush of chatter from the common members of the Covenant, who Daedalus silenced with an authoritative bark.

"I have nothing to say to you all as of now. Please, move aside before I make you."

The crowd instantly baulked, drawing back. R'tas raised his eyebrows at the authority a Brute commanded, over even the Minor, and Major Prophets. The Covenant had indeed changed.

_Placid Enrichment_, however, was just as R'tas remembered from his childhood. He had walked these very corridors hundreds of times in his youth. It felt good to be home.


	26. Chapter 26

**Part 25 - Challenged**

The air around John shimmered, as he re-materialised after the teleportation. Something about the room that seemed to be around him seemed strange though...

Uh oh, he was standing on the ceiling...where had that happened before? The re-materialisation completed, and gravity took hold. John fell sprawling to the floor some metres below, with a grunt. A similar noise from beside him told him the same thing had happened to the Didact.

"Oh dear. I apologise Reclaimer, creator of mine, I am unfamiliar with this installation's grid system, and your construct's aid, Reclaimer, slightly confused the process. Are you hurt?" Guilty Spark apologised, floating up to John's face as he rose off the floor. The Spartan staggered back a little as a result of the close contact , and fell onto a table behind. He cursed for the second time.

"No, I'm fine. Didact?" John asked of the Forerunner beside him, whose helmet had been left behind in the stasis room. Oh well, they weren't going back for it.

"I am well. So, 343 Guilty Spark, how are you?" the Didact replied, then proceeding to direct a question at the Monitor, who looked taken aback.

"Me? I'm running at peak capacity, creator of mine. And I finally have an answer for the question you poised to me long ago." Spark chirped back, zooming around the room.

"Do you now? Just how long has it been since I asked that question?" the Forerunner questioned, dusting himself off.

"Some 101, 218 local years, creator of mine. I am surprised to see you survived all this time, to be frank." the monitor replied.

"Over 100,000 years? Incredible. So much must have changed." the Didact whispered to himself. Spark mistook it as a question.

"You could say that," the monitor chirped, "but all in all, organic behaviour is still very much the same. They build empires, wage war, and then fall. Although, on the bright side, I managed to discover the Reclaimers!"

"More like we discovered you..." John muttered bitterly, remembering the atrocity back on Alpha Halo.

"Quite so Reclaimer. I am pleased to see you have finally taken my advice and upgraded to a Class Twelve combat skin. All the more efficient, for fighting the Flood. I do hope there are no hard feelings between us after the last time we parted. I've always thought we had a certain _bond_, don't you agree?"

John ignored the Monitor's comment for the moment, looking around the room he was in. He was definitely still in the sphere, the aesthetics were definitely Forerunner.

"Speaking of that event, Spark, how the hell are you still alive?" John questioned, and the monitor laughed.

"Technically Reclaimer, I am not alive. Machines, after all, can never truly become like organic life," Spark lectured infuriatingly. As he said this, John felt a slight pang of envy radiate from Cortana,"but yes, I am once again fully functional, despite the high powered energy blasts you destroyed me with on Halo; rightly so, may I add. I was well beyond rampancy."

"Answer the man's question Tinkerbell," a familiar voice at the doorway called out. Sergeant Johnson walked up, and rapped the monitor on the lens reproachingly, "or you'll have me to answer for. I'm still pretty pissed that you shot me with a laser."

"Johnson? I'd be wondering where you'd got to." John commented dryly, trying to mask his surprise. It seemed all that happened to him these days was surprise after surprise.

"It ain't our fault we were blasted on the other side of this god-damn...thing." the Sergeant replied, lighting a cigar.

"Where did you get the cigar?" John asked curiously, remembering that before they had been sent into this strange world, Johnson had practically been out.

"CPO Mendez had a stash of Sweet Williams. I knew him back from Project ORION, we were good friends. It was a big surprise to learn he'd trained ya' Chief."

"Whoa, slow down. Mendez was in Project Orion too? Is he a Spartan I?" the Spartan questioned.

"Hell yeah. You didn't think they'd let any old soldier train you and the other IIs did you Chief? I knew one of the survivors of the first Spartan project was training you, they actually had asked me to do it first. But I said no, so it looks like they picked Mendez."

Revelation after revelation...

"So everyone's here then? My-- Fred's Spartans, the Arbiter, Halsey, Mendicant Bias, everyone?" John queried. The Sergeant puffed out a cloud of smoke, and nodded.

"Yep. Oh, and that Mendicant Bias and those Engineers built a new body for that chirping whistle in the corner, unfortunately," Johnson informed him, pointing at Spark, and then looking at John and the Didact. "Still, he found you and your uh...friend, finally, so I guess he ain't all that bad. I'm still gonna make him pay for nearly killing me though. When we're out of this place and back home safe and sound, I'll use him as a paperweight or something."

"I beg your pardon?" Spark exclaimed indignantly, "I am 343 Guilty Spark, --"

"--Monitor of Installation 04, yeah yeah, I've heard it all before."

"Hold on a sec? What do you mean they made you a new body?" John directed at Spark.

"Ah, I'd be happy to edify you in this matter Reclaimer. You see, I am constantly broadcasting information to a data centre upon this construct, I have recently learned. My personality, memory, emotions, all are stored within a backup file here. Thus, 032 Mendicant Bias extracted these files, and, with the help of the Huragok, assembled a new chassis for me."

"So...you're not the same Guilty Spark?" John questioned.

"Why must you organics always complicate what need not be complicated? I am, down to every last fibre of my mechanical being, 343 Guilty Spark, Monitor of Installation 04. Do not try and attribute human boundaries to me Reclaimer, it shall not yield any progress."

"Where is Mendicant Bias? I wish to have a talk with him." the Didact whispered in a deadly tone, which confused Sergeant Johnson.

"Just who is this character? He looks like an Elf with attitude."

"Elf? Is that the name your ancestors gave us? How quaint. I am the Didact, dear Reclaimer. I am the last of the Forerunner race." the Didact replied to the Sergeant's question, with a completely normal tone.

"Is this guy serious?" Johnson asked of the Master Chief, who nodded mutely, "well I'll be damned. You've got a lot to answer for Elf boy, that Halo system you built has caused me, and the rest of humanity a helluva lot of trouble."

"I apologise for that, Reclaimer. But we can deal with this matter later. Right now I must speak to Mendicant," the Forerunner replied softly.

"All right then, follow me. You better come too Chief, everyone will be glad to know you've finally arrived."

"Finally? Just how long have we been gone?" John asked, puzzled.

"I'd say around a week. Mendicant Bias has had Spark and that crazy 2401 Pendant Tangerine--"

"Penitent Tangent, Reclaimer." the Monitor corrected absently.

"-- that Tangerine guy looking zooming around slip space like crazy looking for you." the Sergeant replied. Penitent Tangent? John remembered the slightly eccentric Monitor of Installation 05 well. He'd assumed he'd been destroyed with the Gravemind.

"Did you say a week? That's impossible, I can't have been gone for more than an hour, if that."

"Time passes strangely when encased in slip space. That specific area you were in was chosen for just that reason Reclaimer, it runs slower than most, aiding the way the Stasis Pods function." the Didact explained as the small group walked, Guilty Spark humming alongside them.

"So how come you weren't surprised to see me pop out of the blue if I was gone for a whole week?" the Spartan questioned.

"Oh, that. Spark sent a message to Mendicant Bias a few days ago saying he had found you." Johnson replied jovially.

"A few days? Spark turned up around five minutes ago--ah, that whole slip space thing. I get it. So, where exactly are we?"

"We're in an outpost on the far western side of the Micro Dyson Sphere's north equator." the Didact suddenly chipped in, "I remember designing it. If I remember correctly, there is an Apex nearby."

"An Apex?" John questioned.

"It's essentially a shipyard, Reclaimer. Sadly, the Apex in this installation contains but one Dreadnought. It, however, is the only way to leave once you are inside." the Forerunner clarified.

"Then we should get to it straight away, and leave."

"Alas, I fear that shall not be possible currently. Offensive Bias has complete control of this Installation's technological systems, and will do his best to prevent us from reaching the Dreadnought. The energy shielding around it is too powerful for him to destroy, but he can prevent us from reaching it." spoke the Didact.

"Why is he doing this?" Johnson asked, joining in the conversation.

"He is rampant, Reclaimer," explained the Forerunner, "and rampant machines do many illogical things."

"Such as when I attempted to kill you all!" Spark chipped in a little too happily.

"Yeah, good times." the Sergeant growled back, munching on his cigar.

The outpost looked completely natural, unlike the usual Forerunner aesthetics, the buildings seemed to be carved straight from the trunks of trees, it was a peaceful glade.

"However, we must find a way to overcome Offensive Bias, and quickly. No doubt he has lowered the barrier around the stasis room, and even as we speak, Flood may be exiting into the Citadel. He draws most of his power from a data centre nearby, if we destroy it, then we can weaken him." the Didact urged.

The long conversation was cut off as Johnson reached a tall building, which looked to be carved out of the purest oak. It was beautiful. The went to a nearby door, which was, unlike the rest of the residence, electronic. It opened at his approach. John felt Deja Vu, hadn't he done this thing a few days before hand when first entering the sphere?

"Party's in here Chief. Come on, let's go inside."

******************************

"The Parasite you say? Upon Sangheilios? How has this come to pass?" Equanimity questioned, leaning forward ever so slightly in his chair.

"I know not, Prophets, Chieftain," R'tas replied, in his most humble tone. It was extremely hard for him to resist the urge to bow down to the Prophets: old habits die slow. The presence of the Brute made it easier to resist, however. He would never bow down to a Brute, "save that when I returned, the system of Helios, was infected."

Daedalus made a thoughtful growl deep within his throat, then spoke.

"And what of the mighty fleet of the Sangheili? Did it escape unscathed?"

R'tas hesitated. If he confessed that the ships he had brought with him were all that remained, the Covenant might just decide to have the Elites wiped out. Of course, there were the colonies in other systems, full to the brim with citizens, but that's all they were: citizens; most religious zealots who refused to fight, whatever the need. R'tas would perhaps be able to gather up a dozen or so ships from the colonies, but precious little else.

The Elite could just lie, and tell the Chieftain of the Brutes that he still possessed his fleet of hundreds. Yet, later on, when they learned of the false promise, they may back out. Nay, honesty was the best policy.

"Alas, nay. The ships I have brought with me, and those precious few of the colonies, are all that remains." R'tas admitted, and the Covenant Hierarchs exchanged a quick glance.

"And what of the humans? Why come to us when you have their considerable might upon your side?" Sanctity questioned of R'tas, who looked startled. The Covenant really _were_ ignorant of current events.

"Did you not know? The Sangheili have been engaged in a fresh, bloody war with the humans for nearly three months now."

"And in light of the current events, have the humans not cast aside their anger to unite against a greater threat?" Equanimity asked with disbelief.

"No, no, they have not." R'tas whispered sadly, a single tear running down his left cheek, before splashing to the floor.

"Snivelling cowards." Daedalus rumbled angrily, his voice like thunder. R'tas snapped out of his emotional lapse as the Brute spoke, not wanting to show any distress in front of the...barbarian.

"And so, Fleet master of the Sangheili," Sanctity cut in, holding up his frail hands for silence and moving his chair forward, "what exactly is it you are asking of the Covenant?"

"We wish to form an alliance with you once again, in order to halt the Flood in it's tracks, before the infection spreads throughout the Galaxy. They hold Sangheilios; the control everything. All the latest of our technology, Prophet. All our ships...everything. We cannot let them grow in power, even now they are probably forming a Gravemind." R'tas intoned, his voice resolute. The two Prophets nodded solemnly, but Daedalus merely growled angrily.

"You expect us to just join up with you Elite? I do not think you worthy to work alongside us." the Chieftain of the Brutes barked, throwing R'tas off stride.

"Not worthy? What is it you would have us do then, _Jiralhanae?_" the Elite challenged, anger rising unbidden.

"I challenge thee, R'tas Vadum'ee of the House Dum, to a public display of unarmed mortal combat, one day from now." Daedalus puffed proudly, drawing himself up to full height, "if you defeat and kill me, then my Brutes shall gladly accept your leadership, you shall become the new Chieftain of the Jirahanae, per say. If not, however, your Elites must leave, and solve their own problems."

R'tas was dumbstruck, and stood with his remaining jaw agape in shock. The Elite leader looked to the Prophets with a pleading expression.

"This is foolishness, Sanctity, Equanimity. Tell this Brute that what he suggests is impossible." R'tas demanded of the Prophets, who squirmed.

"We hold no jurisdiction over Daedalus, Vadum'ee," Equanimity intoned, "if he wishes to fight in order for you to win the Brute's allegiance, then you must comply with his wishes." Sanctity nodded along gravely.

"Nonsense! Do not be absurd, the Flood threatens to consume all, and you wish to duel to the death?" R'tas spluttered in disbelief. The Elite Honour Guards at his side tensed, anticipating combat.

"What is the matter Sangheili? Afraid you shall be bested, you pathetic worm?" Daedalus smirked. He may be intelligent for a Brute, but deep down, each and every one of the beasts possessed a primitive essence about them.

"Fleet-master, would you have us put down this filth for you?" the lead of the Elite Honour Guard, F'edri, questioned loud enough for the Chieftain of the Brute and his own Honour Guard to hear. The golden ordained Brutes growled warily, drawing out hammers and Brute shots whilst the Elites brought out Energy swords. Things were falling to pieces very quickly.

"Don't be absurd F'edri, we're trying to form an alliance here. Sheath your blade, and that goes for the rest of you." R'tas snapped, and the Honour Guards reluctantly holstered their weapons, as did the Brutes. Tension was still high in the room however.

"Do you accept the terms and conditions of the challenge Elite, or are you a coward?" Daedalus asked, oblivious to the atmosphere around him. The Prophets had drawn back from the near conflict, and were looking uneasy.

"I accept. Where shall we meet?"

A hushed silence filled the room, and all eyes turned to Daedalus.

"Where do you think? The combatant's arena of course. When this system's sun is highest in the sky over Placid Enrichment. Would you have me send a guide to show you where it is?"

"I know where it is Brute. I was an Honour Guard here whilst you were still a young ling. Do not presume to lecture me." R'tas replied in annoyance, and the Chieftain of the Brutes huffed in respect.

"Very well then. My Brutes shall show you to your allocated quarters, do not speak to anyone. I, and the other Hierarchs have enough trouble managing the Covenant as it is, without rumours flying around. I shall see you tomorrow, and for perhaps the final time." Daedalus spoke softly, instantly becoming warm again. Then again, R'tas reminded himself, challenge for leadership of the Brute packs were common, to die in mortal combat was considered a great honour for them. Fools.

The Brute Honour Guards grunted wearily, marching past the Elite convoy, beckoning them to follow. The Elite Honour Guard looked amongst each other, nodding, and formed a box around R'tas as they walked. F'edri fell in beside R'tas.

"Noble one, this is absurd. You are far too valuable to be killed in some petty brawl," the Honour Guard leader began, with anger in his voice, "allow me to take your place, my life is insignificant compared to yours."

"No, my dear F'edri, never think that. Your life is just as important to the Sangheili as mine. This is my chance to prove myself, to fight for my brethren. Indeed, it is a great honour." R'tas spoke back sharply, as much to convince himself as the Honour Guard.

"Would it be so easy, but that _Daedalus_ is physically stronger than you Fleet-master, if I may say. How shall you kill such a foe?"

"Kill? I shan't kill him, he will be a great asset. Nay, brother, I shall merely best him, and force him to yield."


	27. Chapter 27

**Part 26 - Nothing left to guard**

_I was born to protect, to keep my planet safe. Would it that my father could see me now. He'd turn his head in shame._

So thought Relg V'asqui as he stared out into the ravaged sky of Sangheilios, the sky he had once looked up to in contentment, the sky he had once had the gall to name his own. His sky; his Sangheilios. Over the past week, he had learnt how brutally wrong he had been.

The land he looked out to now...it was not Sangheilios. It was not the planet he had been brought up upon; it was not the planet he had sworn to protect. Nor was it the planet where he had wed his dear beloved, where his children had roamed free in happiness. They were all dead. Or infected by the parasite. Either meant the same to Relg. His family, his loved ones. They were all gone.

Nay, it was not Sangheilios. Not any more.

Relg looked with deep sadness into the burning crimson fire within the cave's bowels, out of sight from the Parasite patrols. It did little to melt the cold, unforgiving ice that had formed around his heart.

_How had this happened? What gross negligence on their part had allowed such a catastrophic event to occur?_

Relg took a deep breath, and looked across the fire to his brother, his friend, fellow protector. The noble Sangheili also had a look of deep mourning upon his face. The dark bags and crevasses under the Sangheili's eyes were only illuminated by the crackling glow of the flame.

"Why has this happened Malkor? And why to us?" Relg whispered sadly, tucking his arms and legs into his chest, trying to ignore the carnivorous screams outside of the Flood.

"I don't know why, brother, but I know how. We both do." Malkor replied, taking a gruesome bite of the Flood infested flesh they had been forced to survive on. Burnt beyond having a taste, the meat was no longer tainted. It did little to quell their hunger though.

Relg closed his eyes in pain, and thought back to what had happened, on that horrible day. On the day of the apocalypse.

The morning had been clear and glorious, the violet sun of the Helios system shone brightly upon the Citadel of Vadam, in all it's beauty and reverence.

Relg had been attending, or rather, guarding one of the many recent Council meetings, which, as always, discussed the recent events of Vadam, and indeed of Sangheilios.

"Fleet master R'tas Vadum' has gone insane, what right did he have to take our fleet? It would have perhaps been understandable if it had been for a noble cause, yet nay, it was to chase after his Demon friend, and the Heretic Arbiter!" High Councillor 'Defames cried, bringing his fist hard down upon the wooden table where the inner circle sat, prompting a wave of agreement from the rest of the Council.

"What right does he hold over us in any case? Surely a mere Fleet master should not be commanding the Sangheili..." spoke 'Defames advisor, Councillor K'arn, prompting nods of heads. Relg had decided then to voice his own opinion, moving closer to the table and unfolding his arms.

"Fleetmaster Vadum's may be but that, a Fleetmaster, but he holds all the authority and power of an Imperial Admiral. I think you forget, revered Council, that it was R'tas Vadum' who took charge during the betrayal of the Prophets, without him, we'd be dead." Relg intoned, and the inner and outer circle of the Council looked at him in shock. Rare was the day one not of the Council included himself in the Council. Relg sensed his friend Malkor squirm in discomfort.

"Perfectly valid points, Light of Helios," 'Defames grounded out, his voice like venom, "but that was then. We exist in the here and now. And right now, Vadum' has left us without a fleet. I say we carry a motion to have him stripped of his rank. A vote, as immediate, of the Council."

_This isn't fair,_ thought Relg as he stared with dislike at the backstabbing High Councillor. Most of the members of the Vadam Council were friendly with 'Defames. No, this wasn't fair at all.

"Are you sure that is wise?" One of the Councillors asked, concerned. A wave of noise suddenly drowned him out.

"Heretic--"

"Left us to rot--"

"Doesn't care about Sangheilios--"

And so on. Relg closed his eyes, trying to muster non existent patience for the bunglers before him. It was above his place as a guard to have any real say amongst the council. Light of Helios he may be, but he still held no political power.

Angered, he left the room, standing in the open auditorium, and took a deep breath. The city before him was amazing, crystal blue, gleaming marble, a beacon of hope.

_Yet no longer_, Relg suddenly thought with a pang, thrown back to the present. He shook his head, and reminisced again.

Footsteps had echoed behind Relg after he had stormed out of the meeting.

"You should not just walk out in full session brother, it does not bode well."

Malkor, fellow Light of Helios.

The Lights of Sangheilios, often abbreviated to Lights of Helios, were the elite. The elite of the Elites, mused Relg; a terrible pun and he knew it. Trained from birth to become warriors, bestowed with the finest of fine honours. None could best them.

"And you? Methinks it would not bode well for you either, having walked out yourself." Relg replied, a smile touching his lips.

"Damn the council." Malkor replied back with a straight face, and Relg began to laugh, his friend then following suit.

"Ah...what are we doing my friend? Why are we here?" Relg suddenly questioned, throwing Malkor off stride.

"We were trained from birth, you know as well as I that the moment our sires chose that path for us, our destiny was sealed."

"Was it? There was no law requiring that we stayed after graduation."

"Yea, but our families would skin us alive and feed us to a pack of Kig-Yar if we dared to leave this position. Speaking of families, how fare Ranea and your son?" Malkor replied, then asking a question about Relg's wife and child.

"Well I should hope, although Ranea's illness isn't clearing up. I must admit I'm worried."

The two guards were silent, content to look out unto the city before them. The droning of the Councillors within the hall was drowned out by Banshees soaring overhead.

Then, it happened.

Another noise; not the Councillors talking, or the Banshees whistling, but something different. Something...more.

Screams in the distance. Wild, terrible screams begging for release. These screams weren't Sangheili, nor Grunt nor Jackal. Not even human. They were something else.

The first alarm bell began to ring, some miles off the city, and Relg's head snapped up. Something serious was occurring. Malkor also jumped to attention, a frown upon his face.

The second alarm then rung, and Relg knew something was definitely wrong. He looked at Malkor, who had nodded, and together they swept back into the Council chambers, where the politicians were stood wearily.

"What is it? Humans?" Advisor K'arn questioned, his mandibles pursed. The question was directed at Relg and Malkor, who looked at the Councillor, bewildered.

"We don't know Council. However, we recommend that you immediately--"

Relg was cut off as a sentry burst into the room, his look one of terror. He immediately began groping around, screaming a silent scream. Foam frothed at the Sangheili's mouth, and Relg stepped forward, concerned, about to grab the sick warrior. He recoiled as he saw what was embedded in the sentry's back.

A small Flood infection form had penetrated the Sangheili's shields, and was scooping blood and flesh away in order to gain entrance. It was a gruesome sight.

"By the Gods, the Parasite! J'nask, take the Council to the safe room at once!" Relg barked, drawing out his Plasma Cutlass, a holy weapon reserved for the Lights. He stepped forward to the raving Sangheili, who was on his knees now, tossing and writhing.

"Don't--don't let me--become one of them!" the sentry begged in his last moments of sanity, and Relg raised the cutlass.

"You shan't." he said, bringing the sword down upon the sentry's flesh. He and the infection form immediately exploded.

J'nask, but a normal Honour Guard, had already begun to move the frightened Council away. They were no warriors; they would be but a hindrance in a fire-fight.

The Council never reached their destination however.

For at that moment, the great glass dome of the Council Chambers shattered into a million shards, the glass instantly killing some of the unshielded politicians as it fell. The Flood then dropped down, and began to massacre the ensemble crowd. Relg made to move towards them, until a sharp yank of his shoulder stopped him. He turned around to see Malkor looking at him.

"That is a fight we cannot win. We must flee Vadam'" Relg's closest of close friend's advised, already moving, dragging Relg along with him.

"Leave? Malkor, _that is the council._" Relg replied, confounded. Malkor growled angrily, still pulling Relg along, away from the distracted Flood horde.

"The very same council who but moments ago conspired to kill our leader. I will knock you unconscious if needs be my brother, I love you enough to do so." Malkor replied, and Relg stopped struggling. The other Light of Helios was right.

They both crashed through the heavy doors of the Citadel into the main city beyond, ignoring the screams of the council behind. The two Sangheili gasped.

The city was burning. Where but moments ago there was pristine holiness, now there was but destruction, and tarnish. The screams of civilians could clearly be heard, each one a tear in Relg's heart. He set off towards the military district, to his home. Malkor grabbed him.

"Where are you going Relg?" the Elite barked, frowning. Relg tried to push the larger Sangheili away, yet to no avail.

"Release me Malkor! My family, Ranea, my son, I must save them!" Relg cried, tugging as hard as he could. It was no use.

"Don't be foolish! They're dead, Relg. I'm sorry. Yet we will be too, if we do not leave." Malkor had likewise shouted over the carnage. Infectious spores floated through the air towards them.

_And I left them._ Relg thought back with a pang, _left my family, my defenceless, loving family, to save my own cowardly skin._

He knew deep down that he couldn't have saved them anyway, but Relg knew that eternally, he would forever remember them, and his cowardice. However long eternity may be for him anyway.

And so the two elite guards had fled the city on that terrible day, battling their way out. Were they not so well trained, they wouldn't have made it out alive. And had they been anywhere other than the Council Chambers, they would have been instantly swamped.

Relg wished he had died that day. Died in the arms of his loving wife, with his son huddled up close. Died protecting that which was most important. Ever since, he had contemplated ending it all himself; to unite with his family upon the Great Journey, if it even existed.

But he couldn't. Wouldn't. Malkor needed him, and he needed Malkor. The whole of Sangheilios was against them, and only together would they have some small chance of staying alive.

Some small chance of stopping them.

"Ah! There it is! The Dreadnought!" Chirped 343 Guilty Spark, and began to glow happily. John lunged for the Monitor, and hid him behind the rock he was crouching behind.

"Calm down, you're going to get us spotted." the Master Chief spoke in level tones, frowning.

"Of course Reclaimer, I do apologise. Perhaps the Sentinels nearby however, will listen to my commands. We could try." the Monitor suggested, and John thought hard for a moment, before shaking his head, clearing snow off of it in the process. This section of the sphere was like a winter wonderland. The ground the Sentinels floated over in the distance melted as they passed.

"Don't count on it. Offensive Bias, according to Mendicant Bias, has priority commands over everything. I'm not risking our lives on a hunch." said the Spartan, checking his rifle nervously. He had no idea when the thing would run out, if ever.

"Hold on a sec. Monitor, you have access codes to the Sentinels?" Cortana questioned, and Spark perked up.

"Well; yes, but as the Reclaimer so vehemently pointed out, it is unlikely that they will respond--"

"Link up with me, and maybe I can hack into a few." Cortana ordered, shocking the Chief.  
"Are you sure?" John asked uncertainly. It wasn't that he doubted Cortana's skills, but she'd never done anything like this.

"Positive...well, 90% positive." she spoke back.

"I like those odds. Do it Spark." John ordered, and felt a chill as the Monitor entered his mind, interacting with his AI. What happened next couldn't be described by him, binary code seemed to swim by his eyes, a million thoughts and possibilities at once. It was too much for his human brain to handle, and he began to feel faint.

"Done. Those two Sentinels up ahead? They're friendly now, you can come out of cover." Cortana crowed triumphantly, and yet John remained affixed to where he was.

"Are you certain? I don't feel like being blasted today." the Spartan questioned, and felt a rush of annoyance from his companion.

"Yes I'm certain! Now move, before more of the things come out. I won't be able to hack them all, even those two are a struggle." she snapped, and John complied, coming out of cover. The Sentinels immediately swivelled their lenses towards him.

"Subject analysis: Reclaimer. Thread level: Green. How can we aid you?" the first Sentinel rumbled.

"Told you." Cortana whispered smugly. John didn't give her the satisfaction of replying.

"Now what?" John asked, looking at the 'Apex', which was huge. A large shield covered it however, one John doubted he would be able to simply waltz through.

"If I'm correct in assuming so Reclaimer, your compatriots should be in the process of shutting down the rampant construct. Once that is done, we shall enter this structure, and disable it's defences from within. After that, your party can join us, and we can leave this installation safely." Guilty Spark explained unnecessarily, floating around the Sentinels appraisingly.

"Assuming all goes to plan..." John muttered.

******************

R'tas Vadum' appraised his opponent warily, who stood on the other end of the combat arena. Daedalus was, well and truly a Brute. The Elite reckoned him to be around ten feet tall, and muscles rippled through his chest's fur. There was no possible way he would be able to defeat him head on. Perhaps there was no way he could defeat him at all.

"Fleetmaster, please, rethink your decision. It's not too late to back out." F'edri muttered as removed R'tas' body armour, which wasn't permitted in duels such as the one he was in. R'tas was powerful enough, lean, graceful muscle, and he was stronger than he looked. Still, he had his doubts. But running wouldn't help.

"And I beg you, dear brother, to desist in your pleas. If I leave now, our world, our very survival as a species, is doomed. I must do this." R'tas replied back, stretching his arms and legs. He hoped he still had a knack for duelling, as he had when he had last faced against Sub Commander Kusovoi, over a year ago now at the _Infinite Succour_ incident.

"I...understand honoured one. May the Forerunners be with you." the Honour Guard leader spoke sadly, withdrawing from R'tas, leaving but he and Daedalus alone in the combat ring. In the huge hall, thousands watched with eager eyes. R'tas knew that most wished him to fall. He would have the delight of disappointing them.

"Are you prepared, Sangheili?" the Chieftain of the Brutes called over, pounding his chest with two boulder sized hands. Savage.

"I am always prepared Brute." R'tas replied coolly, although the sweat gleaming upon his head betrayed his true feelings.

"Then steel yourself. For now we _fight!_" Daedalus cried, suddenly rushing the Elite. The Brute had gone berserk already, frothing at the mouth, hunched over, charging. The crowd drew in a breath as Daedalus neared his foe.

R'tas bent his knees, and at the last critical moment, dove to the side, smacking against the energy shielding of the arena, which burnt his bare skin. Still, it was better than having three tons of muscle smash into you.

Daedalus wasn't able to stop in time, and crashed full on into the barrier, with a yowl. He withdrew himself from the shield, and shook his head dazed. R'tas, meanwhile, had already recovered, and the next thing Daedalus saw was the Elite's powerful knee slamming into his face as R'tas jumped through the air. The Brute staggered back, and swiped out with a heavy paw. One of the claws caught R'tas' leg, and the Sangheili gasped, tumbling to the ground.

The Jiralhanae raised a large boot, and prepared to bring it then upon the Elite's chest. R'tas' eyes sprung open before it could do this however, and he rolled to the side, avoiding the stomp. He then tackled the Brutes legs with his body, and felt an earthquake tremor as Daedalus crashed to the floor with a grow. R'tas wasted no time, pouncing on top of the Brute and delivering a swift punch to it's face. He kept his knees pressed down upon the Chieftain's shoulders, pinning him in place.

R'tas then grasped Daedalus' thick throat with his hands, and began to squeeze down hard. The Brute gagged, flailing around. R'tas' goal wasn't to kill the Brute, but knocking him unconscious would do fine.

Just as Daedalus' eyes began to roll back, however, he summoned a tremendous amount of strength, and threw R'tas off over to the other side of the arena, where he somehow managed to land on his feet, albeit clumsily. The crowd cheered as the Brute staggered back to his feet, taking in some deep breaths. The Sangheili Fleetmaster's mouth tasted of blood.

Daedalus once again rushed R'tas, causing the ground to shake. The Elite bared his two mandibles, and side stepped the charge, then turning and sinking his sharp teeth into the matted, unclean fur of the Chieftain. The Brute howled in agony, and R'tas felt warm, red Jiralhanae blood flow into his mouth. He tried his best not to gag.

"Damn you, you bastard!" Daedalus cried in pain, bringing a fist around which hit R'tas in the jaw. He immediately relinquished his grip, and felt several things in his mouth crack in an explosion of pain. R'tas was sent sprawling to the floor, where he lay dazed.

Daedalus grabbed the Elite's neck with a vice like grip, and threw him back onto the ground, where his head smashed, blood leaking. The world was swimming. R'tas, to his credit, delivered a solid punch to the Brute's face, which snapped loudly, but then he was back down. The Brute put a foot upon R'tas' neck, keeping him in place.

Choruses of 'kill him!' were raging throughout the hall, and R'tas knew this was the end. He had lost, failed his Elites. Sangheilios was doomed.

Daedalus looked down at R'tas with...pity? Respect? Certainly a facial expression the Sangheili had not expected. What surprised him even more was when, instead of pushing down, the Brute removed his boot from R'tas' neck, and offered him a hand to right himself.

R'tas, in his pain drunk state, eyed the hand warily, and then reached up for it. Daedalus hoisted him up easily, and then supported him to stand up. The onlookers had fallen silent, and Daedalus then spoke.

"Never in all my years has an opponent come as close to besting me as R'tas Vadum'. Despite the obvious physical difference, and the fact that I have my natural claws as weapons, he fought valiantly, and for that, I praise him. All you who just then cried out for his death should be ashamed. For this Elite is a noble warrior, to be honoured and hailed. Hail R'tas Vadum', of the house Dum!" the Brute Chieftain cried, and after a moment of shocked silence, the crowd burst into cheer. Daedalus lifted R'tas' arm in victory, even though he had not been the victor.

"But...why?" R'tas asked of Daedalus, confused.

"There are some things in life more important than honour Sangheili. No doubt you have come to understand that yourself. You are the most worthy Elite I have ever had the fortune to meet, and I pray that we should never have to meet each other as enemies upon a real battlefield, for I know that I would not escape alive. I, and the rest of the Covenant, shall gladly fight alongside your Elites against the Flood, and whatever other troubles may dog your path." the Jirahanae told him, and R'tas smiled sorely.

"I am truly thankful Chieftain, for both your mercy, and support. What do you wish to do next?" the Elite replied, gasping. Daedalus laughed a hearty laugh.

"I don't know about you Sangheili, but I believe for me at least, a visit to the infirmary is in order. I am standing upon my last legs as it is. I take it you will be accompanying me? Your jaw looks like it is set at a wrong angle." the Brute spoke, and R'tas gingerly touched his mandibles. Definitely out of place, one was stuck within his mouth, another bent at an incredibly obtuse angle.

"Yes, yes I believe we should. And after we have been healed, we have grave matters to attend to."


	28. Chapter 28

**Part 27 - Spartans **_**can**_** die**

A figure dropped from the rafters to the floor before the party, and Fred stopped in his tracks.

"Damn it, we don't have time for this!" the Spartan leader cried, and the Arbiter stepped forward.

"Go forth humans, Forerunner, Oracles. I shall deal with this infidel."

The rest of the group looked at the bold Elite, nodded, and carried on through an alternate corridor. The figure, a strange looking Sentinel, made to move after them, but the Arbiter stepped before the guardian of Offensive Bias' stronghold, challenging the android.

Thel Vadam' drew out his violet Energy Sword, holding it fearsomely before him. The Sentinel Warrior before him cocked it's mechanical head, and detached two fierce blades from each of it's robust arms.

Unlike most Sentinels, this one was confined to the ground. It stood at approximately seven feet, perhaps the same size as the Spartan. It's legs were pointed at the end, cutting through the floor as it walked. It's hand possessed four digits, with powerful arms attached to them. The eyes of the assassin like Sentinel glowed a sharp red.

"You cannot best me, foul contraption." the Arbiter bantered. The Sentinel displayed no reaction to the taunt.

"All organic life is inferior. You, and all the rest shall fall to the Bias." the Sentinel Warrior gravelled out.

"Were it so easy."

Thel charged the Sentinel with his sword, bringing the blade down with a clash upon the large Jackal sized blades affixed to it's arms. The Sentinel's crossed blades sank, and then, with a mechanical cry, they were brought back up, and the Elite was knocked off his feet.

The Arbiter swooped upwards, and primed a plasma grenade, hurling it in the direction of the robotic warrior. The sticky plasma latched onto the left hand blade of the Sentinel, forcing it to unclasp the large sword, where it tumbled to the ground and exploded in a violent cloud.

It had no respite however, for Thel drew out a Covenant Carbine, and began letting off shots at the cyborg. Shields glimmered, and the Sentinel's eyes flashed a dangerous red. It leapt off the ground, back into the rafters above.

Thel was breathing heavily, and he held his sword before him, turning around in circles. Perhaps he should have asked one of the Spartans to stay behind, watch his back. Then again, every single one of them would be needed to press onward through the stronghold of the rampant Forerunner AI.

Wind surged through the hallway, creating a chanting like noise similar to the sound the Arbiter was all too familiar with. Most Forerunner facilities created this melodic noise, and the Covenant had taken due note of it, taking the sound as a sign from the Gods. They used it as a hymn.

Thel heard a noise, and whirred around quickly, blade in hand. It clashed against the large razor of the Sentinel as it descended, in a shower of sparks, and the Arbiter was sent flying back, managing to land swiftly on his feet.

He charged the Sentinel, jumping over it's swipe at his legs, and grabbed it's mechanical head firmly, holding his sword to it.

"The Bias shall prevail." the Sentinel croaked out, and the Arbiter narrowed his eyes, bringing the violet sword to the metal tendons of the android.

"Not today."

Thel sliced with his blade, and the head of the Sentinel Warrior tumbled to the ground, ending the spark of life within it. The Arbiter leaned against a nearby wall, gasping. The fight had been taxing.

He sheathed his sword, took one final glance at his fallen foe, and hurried down the hallway in pursuit of his party.

*******************

"This is the main database, if my analysis is correct." Penitent Tangent commented, floating around the eerily quiet room. Fred had ordered the Spartan IIIs to remain posted outside a few corridors back, along with the rest of his own Spartans. Mendez was with Doctor Halsey back at base, as was Sergeant Johnson. A smaller group had a better chance of surviving. Thus, in the room were but him, Penitent Tangent, Mendicant Bias, and the mysterious Didact.

"Offensive Bias, reveal yourself!" the Didact commanded in a voice which gave Fred goosebumps. The dark room began to flicker a dull, bronze glow, and a moment later, the rampant AI materialised. At the same time, a barrier appeared before the exit. They were trapped.

"I was wondering when you would come here. You cannot stop me creator of mine. Surely you are not deluded enough to believe you can?" Offensive Bias spoke blandly, hovering around the room. Fred had had enough of the machine's talk, and fired a round into it's body. The blast passed straight through however.

"He's not really here." Mendicant Bias informed the group, and Offensive swivelled towards his opposite.

"Ah, Mendicant. How perceptive of you. Do you really think I would be so foolish as to remain here? Nay, I am far away from this installation now. You have just been lured into a trap." Offensive smirked, if a machine could smirk.

"Trap? I think not, all your tin cans are broken." Fred challenged; the AI didn't even take notice of the fact he had spoken.

"Perhaps you would all care to take a closer look at the base of this stronghold. I'm sure you will find the results...interesting." Offensive mused, and a holographic screen appeared in mid air before them. Fred's stomach sank; he'd never seen the creatures being shown to him now, but had had them described well enough that he recognised what they were. Hordes and hordes of Flood were pouring into the stronghold.

"An ambush..." the Didact breathed, his eyes widening. Offensive Bias laughed.

"I must unseal the Dreadnought from where it stands now, to exert my power upon it any longer would drain me from such a distance. However, you shan't have the chance to board it. You will die."

"I think you underestimate our abilities. We'll battle our way out, leave this place, and then we'll find you. Even if we don't, John is already at the Dreadnought site. He'll stop you, if we don't have the chance to assist." Fred replied nervously, eyes upon the Flood still pouring in. He radioed his Spartans.

"Trouble's on the way; the Flood. Hold fast, we're on our way." he told Linda, who sent a simple green light back.

"Farewell all. May the Precursors have mercy upon your inferior souls." Offensive Bias taunted one last time, before vanishing, the barrier along with it. Fred moved instantly, aware of the Didact running behind him, talking to Mendicant Bias.  
"Mendicant, can you teleport us out of here?" the Forerunner asked. There was a pause.

"No, Offensive has set up some sort of restricting nexus. I'm afraid we shall have to fight our way out, creator."

They linked up with the Spartans, who were already engaged in battle with the Flood. Fred fell in beside Kelly and Linda, firing his weapon at the horde moving through the corridor. There were too many, eventually they would be overwhelmed. The Spartan IIIs were on the other side of the room, and they were being pressed hard, under threat of being swarmed.

"Kelly, Linda, you cut a path through the left side towards the threes, Didact, me and you will stick to the right. Mendicant and Tangent, keep, uh, firing those lasers!" Fred ordered, and the company sprung into action. The Didact brought out an energy blade from what seemed to be a sheath as small as the one Fred kept his knife in, yet the Forerunner blade was easily half as tall as Fred.

The pair, the Didact and Fred, advanced towards the right side of the Flood horde, and began to make their way through, soon becoming lost in a wave of biomass and screaming. These Flood didn't seem to be very well organised, and were continuously tripping over. To the left of him, Fred could hear Kelly and Linda hacking their own way through.

Eventually, they reached the Spartan IIIs, who were heavy in the midst of fighting the Flood. The Flood surrounding them were quickly cleared away, and all went silent.

Fred's stomach plummeted as he beheld three of the newer generation of Spartans sprawled on the floor; Ash, Olivia, and Mark. Tom and Lucy were bent over the younger threes, holding them in an embrace. Fred knew already they were dead; and put his hand on Tom's shoulder reassuringly, tears in his eyes. Kelly did similar to Lucy. A rare moment of compassion amongst Spartans. Linda just stood away, leant against the wall, arms folded and head tipped sadly.

"Sir, Ash; Olivia; Mark; they're --" Tom began, only to break off crying openly, his head resting on Fred's shoulder.

"There was nothing you could've done. They died for what they believed in son. Know that much." Fred spoke, his voice close to breaking.

Lucy sobbed silently, as always. The Didact was stood some ways back, a sad look upon his graceful face. The two Monitors floated side by side. Penitent Tangent breathed a soft 'oh my.'

"They had us surrounded. We were down to our last clip, and then Mark went down first. Olivia bent down to catch him as he fell, and then was hit by one of those...things on the back of the neck. Her new armour did her no good. Ash was the last of them to fall, he wrestled one to the ground before it could kill me, and was choked to death by it. He--he saved my life. And now he's dead." Tom told himself as much as everyone else. Fred offered him a hand up, which he accepted.

"Linda, Kelly...gather the bodies. We'll bury them when we get back to Earth." Fred ordered, and his two Spartans gently heaved the limp Spartan IIIs.

"They'd like that." Tom whispered softly.

Before Fred could once again reply, he heard a noise behind him, and whipped out a pistol, spinning 180 degrees. He sighed in relief when he saw the Arbiter, ascended the ramp below them.

"The parasite below are dead, by the edge of my blade. What has happened?" the Elite asked, and Fred sadly moved aside so the Arbiter could see the dead Spartans. Thel gasped, and lowered his head in sorrow.

"I did not know them well, but I am sure they were great warriors. They are in a better place now." the Arbiter said softly, and Fred was surprised that an Elite actually cared. Perhaps John was right; perhaps not all of them were bad.

"I don't wish to be tactless, but we should move towards the Apex. John must be getting worried. We can stop off at your camp on the way, and collect your fellows." the Didact instructed, and the group nodded, snapping out of their mourning.

Slowly, the group descended the ramp, and prepared to leave the stronghold. So much had been lost here, and for what? Nothing.

***************

_Surface of Sangheilios, outside the Citadel of Vadam'._

Relg awoke not to the fresh scent of a new day, but to the tarnished, parasite tainted air. The Light of Helios grimaced, and roused himself from his slumber...

...and froze. In the corner of the cave he had been sleeping in along with Malkor, one of the Flood was sniffing around. It was a basic infected animal, and clearly not intelligent enough to distinguish the difference between a sleeping and dead Sangheili. Despite the fact it had been mutated beyond belief, Relg could tell it was a small Thorn Beast, dangerous creatures indeed. The peril was made all the greater, since it was controlled by the Flood.

He looked to his left. Malkor was still resting in slumber. Would Relg risk calling to his friend for assistance? No, it might startle the creature, lose him the element of surprise. Far better to deal with this himself.

The Elite drew his energy cutlass from it's sheath, and crept towards the Flood infected beast. He paused as it looked around, sniffing the air. Fortuitously, it did not notice Relg, and soon settled down again, no doubt rummaging for food.

Relg made sure he was in a prime position, and, after raising the cutlass high above his head, plunged it into the neck of the beast, where it sunk in like there was nothing there. The infected creature snapped around, screaming, flood biomass glued to it's lips. It's eyes were an unnatural shade of red. It lashed with it's tail, catching Relg in the thigh.

The noise seemed to have woken Malkor up, for at that moment, Relg's fellow Light sprung into action, tossing a plasma charged dirk into the neck of the beast, where it sunk in fast. Relg took advantage of the creature's distraction to pull his own blade out of the biomass riddled skin, and then drive the cutlass in again, this time into the beast's sickly heart.

The Thorn Beast's pupil-less eyes went wide, and it began to cough up foul looking flesh. It did this for several more moments, before collapsing to the ground. Relg looked down with disgust at the felled Flood form, and crouched, retrieving his blade and wiping it on a blackened leaf in the corner.

"The next time the very spawn of hell stands but a few strides from me brother, inform me would you?" Malkor demanded angrily, plunging his own hand deep into the Flood's fleshy neck to retrieve his now uncharged dirk.

"I did not wish to startle the beast. By the ancients brother, what has it come to, that we cannot rest for a short while without being disturbed by one of these foul creatures?" Relg replied in turn.

"Sangheilios is controlled by the parasite my friend, perhaps we are the only two still alive upon the planet."

A grim, and lonely thought.

"Fleetmaster R'tas will return will he not? He took the fleet, maybe he can "

"Don't be foolish. Even with the support of the colonies, the Fleetmaster would have twenty ships at best. Would it that we were still allied with the humans, they could help us stop this. We cannot do anything Relg, except survive." Malkor barked back, and Relg hung his head.

"We are the most efficient of warriors upon the whole of Sangheilios Malkor. Surely we can wrestle a ship from the control of the parasite, and flee?" Relg suggested, ludicrously. Malkor's eyes widened.

"Are your wits addled? Look outside brother; what do you see?"

Relg complied, and started out of the maw of the cave into the ravaged world beyond. It was truly a depressing sight. A blood red sky, tainted by Flood spores and swarms. The grass had been blackened, and littered with biomass. Even the great Citadel of Vadam was beginning to resemble High Charity, after it had been infected.

"I see Sangheilios, and all that it once was. And all that it can be again." Relg replied optimistically, and heard Malkor sigh.

"Perhaps, but do you honestly believe we can steal a ship? You know me Relg, I would follow you wherever you should choose to go. We have been friends for decades."

There was a pause, as Relg thought.

"What other option is there? I would rather die hoping to achieve a goal than waste my days like this in fear. The Flood will find us eventually, Malkor, it is but a matter of time. Even we, the Lights of this now dim planet, would not be able to survive. Which is why we must strike first. We can battle our way through to the shipyard; and whether we take the smallest Phantom or the largest Assault Carrier it matters not, for we shall escape."

Malkor looked as if he were about to protest, and then nodded, clasping Relg's hand in brotherhood.

"By your word Relg. When should we leave?"

"We need time to rest and recover from our original escape from the Citadel. We shall make our way towards the shipyard in a week, for better or worse. We shall either escape this planet; or we die doing so."


	29. Chapter 29

**  
Part 28 - Prepare for departure**

"How many ships do we possess altogether?" Daedalus asked of R'tas, who thought for a second.

"Ten of my own fleet, added to forty of yours, and a further fifteen from the Sangheili colonies. That makes sixty five in total, five of them being Assault Carriers. And of course, we've got the might of _Placid Enrichment_. A strong force." R'tas informed the Brute Hierarch, who sighed.

"And is that enough?" Daedalus whispered softly, and R'tas hung his head.

"Compared to the hundreds in the fleet the Parasite will have? No, it's not enough. But the Flood may not be advanced as of yet, they're ships will probably be crudely piloted. We have a chance, however small it may be." R'tas admitted, looking up at the Chieftain of the Brutes. The two leaders were stood in R'tas' private quarters of the Shadow of Intent, which both the Elites and Covenant had agreed to become the flagship of their conjoined fleet. It had been five days since the duel between the Elite and Brute, and they had managed to sort things out. The Prophets had assisted in fitting all the ships with the latest technology, whilst R'tas and Daedalus had drawn up war plans.

"Then we must seize upon the chance, or the Flood shall dominate the Galaxy. When do we depart for Sangheilios, and how long will it take to arrive?" Daedalus questioned.

"We'll depart in a few hours. With our new slip space technology, it should only take a week at the most to arrive." R'tas replied confidently, and the Brute nodded.

"We should go address the masses in _Placid Enrichment_'s hall, inspire them." said the Jiralhanae.

"How many are there?"

"Millions, mainly Grunts and Jackals, mixed with a few Elites, Brutes, Hunters, and Drones. All, however, prepared to die for you."

"Then we owe them a speech, at least." R'tas said softly, walking out of the ship onto the mega city Placid Enrichment. Honour Guard, both Brutes and Elites, drew up beside both R'tas and Daedalus, and escorted them inside the main hall. The two ascended the gilded stairs, and stood side by side at the balcony overlooking the hall. Hordes of Covenant and Separatists looked up, their attention devoted to the Elite Fleetmaster and Brute Chieftain. R'tas cleared his throat, and then spoke.

"My friends, this week, will be the most important week of your lives. The Covenant and Separatists were once enemies, snapping at each others throats. And yet look at us now, side by side, working together. Is that not truly beautiful?"

R'tas paused, taking a deep breath.

"We have a reason to fight! The Parasite have returned, they have taken the system of Helios. That alone is reason enough for the Separatists to fight. But the Covenant also have a reason. The Flood will not halt at Helios; they will spread, and dominate the entire Galaxy. Eventually, there will be no more asteroid belts to hide in, and you shall all be infected, made into slaves of the Gravemind. Unless now, you take up arms, follow us to Sangheilios, and fight! We can defeat the Parasite together, they are weak and inferior!"

The crowd burst into a wave of cheering, and Daedalus stepped forward to speak.

"We leave for Sangheilios in a few hours. We will arrive in a week. And the Gods shall look down upon our noble battle with favour, and fight alongside us in spirit. We will prevail, by the will of the Forerunners!" the Chieftain cried, lifting the _Fist of Rukt_ high above his head. The mass exploded into another roar of approval. R'tas smiled, despite the situation. Never would he have thought that the Covenant and Separatists would once again work together. It was wonderful. Who needed the humans? They could rot in their own pit of selfishness and despair. R'tas turned to Daedalus.

"We should ready the fleet for departure. The sooner we arrive at Sangheilios, the better." the Elite said to the Brute, who nodded.

"Do you think anyone could still be alive on your planet?" the Chieftain asked softly.

"I saw Sangheilios with my own eyes, Jiralhanae. The Flood dominate the entire surface of it. No one could survive on that."

*****************

_Onyx Micro Dyson Sphere, Forerunner Apex._

John heard a rustling in the bushes behind him, and spun around in anticipation, rifle in hand. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw who it was, stepping out of the dark shrubbery and into the night sky.

"Sergeant Johnson. What are you doing here?" John asked the marine Sergeant Major, who was eyeing the gun the Master Chief held apprehensively. John lowered the weapon.

"Watching your back. You haven't been paying attention Spartan, I've already shot down three Sentinels who were creeping up behind you as you made your way here. Your ears on?" Johnson explained, and John's eyes went went. _Three_ Sentinels, unnoticed by him? He really needed some rest.

"Thanks. The barrier around the place lowered a minute ago, I was just about to head in around the back and clear the way for blue team." John told the Sergeant, who nodded, lighting a cigarette; he'd run out of cigars, finally. John subconsciously included the non Spartans in blue team; they'd all headed out to shut Offensive Bias down. It looked like they had succeeded.

"I'll follow you." Johnson said boldly. "And no blasting me with lasers light bulb, not this time."

The Monitor of Installation 04 somehow managed to look hurt by the accusation.

"I have apologised multiple times for that Reclaimer, I can't change what happened." Spark huffed indignantly. Johnson frowned.

"Yeah, don't I know it. I've still got a huge scar across my chest."

Cortana then cut in.

"With all due respect, people, we should get moving. Blue team are heading around the front, and we've got to shut down the defences before they arrive." the human AI instructed, and John nodded.

"Understood. Stay sharp Johnson."

"Aye aye swabbie." the marine mocked, referring to the fact that John was technically in the navy, despite spending most of his time fighting alongside the corps.

"Spark, stay low, and lose the glow." John ordered the Monitor, who dimmed slightly, hovering down to John's chest level. He moved across the small courtyard with the Sergeant Major in tow, the two Cortana - hacked Sentinels following him. They'd be useful in a firefight.

"Hey, this Apex is underground. Ah, I hate the underground. It reminds me of...bad stuff." Johnson muttered, and John knew all too well what he was talking about. The Sergeant Major had been the only one to survive the Flood attack on his squad on the first Halo ring, and had had to battle his way out to the surface, as John had later. The Chief shared the Sergeant's dislike, yet they had a job to do.

"Me too. But we've got to do this Johnson, I'd rather head underground than by trapped in what's essentially a giant goldfish bowl all my life." John placated, referring to the sphere they were currently trapped in. Johnson grunted in affirmation, and followed John down the dark ramp.

The light slowly began to fade, and John, even with his enhanced vision, had trouble seeing. Something crashed into him with an apology; Johnson had tripped over.

"Oops, my bad. Damn it, I can't see anything in here. It's times like these when I wish I had one of them ODST Visor mode thingamajigs." Johnson mumbled, and John couldn't help but agree.

"Why have you stopped Reclaimers?" Guilty Spark questioned of the two blind humans.

"We can't see a thing tinkerbell. I don't suppose you've got a pen torch in that metal shell of yours do you?" Avery Johnson replied irritated.

"Pen torch? I don't know what you're talking about Reclaimer; I do, however, have a UV concentrated light mechanism. One moment please." Spark replied, and a moment later, a bright light filled the artificial cave.

"Thanks." John said graciously, tapping Johnson on the shoulder. "Let's go."

The duo, and the Monitor continued down the ramp, moving further and further into the bowels of the Apex. Eventually, the came to a room with what John recognised to be a Forerunner elevator, similar to the ones on Halo.

"This thing had better go up." Avery spoke out loud, and John looked speculatively at the mechanism.

"Nope, it goes down. Sorry." the Chief chuckled, and Johnson moaned in despair.

"If we go down any further, honest to God we'll be killed by the pressure!"

"I doubt it. Well, you might. I've got Mjolnir on, I'll be fine."

"Very funny Chief. Well, we might as well head on down." the Sergeant replied dryly, climbing onto the tall open elevator. John merely raised a foot and stepped up onto it, being as tall as he was. The Spartan moved to activate the switch, but found Johnson had already done it. The pair began to descend down the shaft, with Spark floating after them, humming _London bridge is falling down._

"Stop that, you'll get us spotted!" John rebuked, and the noise stopped. "Where did you learn London bridge anyway? A Forerunner lullaby?"  
"Hardly. I came across the delightful tune when scouring your ship's navigational computer back upon Installation 04. It truly is pleasant, perhaps once we have left this place, you could show me your 'London,' and it's fallen bridge." Guilty Spark replied. John had no retort. Was the Forerunner AI seriously asking to see a city in England?

"You're unbelievable..." John muttered, turning away from the Monitor.

Eventually, the elevator reached the bottom of the shaft with a loud bang.

"Ground floor, freaky alien robot shut-down switch, and huge ass Forerunner ship." Johnson spoke out in a machine like voice. John cracked a rare smile.

No Sentinels so far. Odd, but that was the way John liked it. He stepped off the platform, hitting the ground softly, knees bent. The Spartan heard noises in the distance, and so raised his rifle, moving forward. He made a signal to Johnson with a few fingers, and the Sergeant stood posted by the door, opposite to John.

The Master Chief nodded at Johnson, and together they moved into the room ahead, rifles poised to fire. The two Sentinels within shrieked in surprise, and charged their weapons in retaliation.

"Johnson, hit the floor!" John cried out, but the Sergeant was too slow. A beam from one of the Sentinels was fired at the inadequately armoured marine, who tried to move out of the way. There was no way he'd be able to dodge in time.

Before the beam of energy hit the Sergeant however, Guilty Spark zoomed in front of him, taking the force of the blast, saving Johnson. The Spartan I quickly retaliated, firing a burst of his own rifle at the offending Sentinel, which exploded. John speedily took care of the other guardian of the Forerunner apex, kicking it against the wall so hard that it crumpled in upon itself.

Spark was floating in the room, dazed and crackling with residue electricity. The Monitor was groaning.

"Oh my..." the Forerunner AI groaned. Johnson was looked at him with a new found respect.

"You saved my life." Avery noted, surprised.

"Of...course Reclaimer. My only function is to serve and assist your kind." Spark replied, as if the statement was ridiculous.

"Guess we're even then. Thanks."

John took a look around the room. Then he spotted it; that magic shut off switch. He activated it, and a voice spoke in English.

"Apex defences now off-line. Security risk imminent." the voice stated over an intercom.

"Security risk my ass, the only risk was when that defence was _on-line._ It'll be clear for Blue team now won't it?" Johnson asked, and John nodded slowly.

"Should be. Let's see if we can find that Dreadnought, and then we'll wait for the others. I hope they're all okay."

***************

"Lord Eden sir, the ships are all assembled, if not a little confused." Captain Graham Daniels informed the UNSC leader, who nodded slowly. _What an arse,_ Daniels thought to himself.

"Excellent, excellent. How many in the fleet?" Eden questioned of the Captain, who frowned.

"I'd say around one-twenty sir. Enough, hopefully. About fifteen percent of the ships are Destroyers too." Graham reported. Eden knew this already, why was he asking?

Just then, the doors to the room swung open, and a man strode in angrily, followed by two bodyguard of Eden who were trying to stop him. Daniels noticed he held the rank of Fleet Admiral.

"What the hell are you playing at Eden? Reach has only just begun to be rebuilt, and yet you're calling my fleet back? What if the Elites attack?" the Fleet Admiral demanded angrily, thumping his fist on the mahogany desk Eden sat behind. The calm composition the Chairman of the HIGHCOM Security committee usually wore flickered slightly, to be replaced by annoyance.

"Don't worry Fleet Admiral Harper, the Elites couldn't attack an anthill right now, never mind a planet. They're a little preoccupied." Eden replied to the Fleet Admiral's angry cry. Captain Daniels stepped back slightly, wanting to get out of the way of the two warring UNSC giants.

"With what? You have to give me some explanation _sir_, the other members of the Highcom board are wondering what's going on too." Harper exclaimed back, his angry face mere centimetres from Eden's.

"Very well Fleet Admiral. You can tell them that the Flood have returned, and they've taken over Sangheilios, the Elite home world. Rartus Vardum, or however the hell you pronounce it, has taken what remains of his fleet to God knows where, probably Sangheilios in a desperate bid to claim his planet back. I've called the UNSC fleets here because we're going to go to Sangheilios in a few days, and we're going to wipe out the Flood, and the Elites at the same time. Tell them that." Eden shouted just as angrily. Harper blinked, and drew back.

"Where's the proof of this...this Flood invasion?" he asked, and Eden indicated Daniels, who shifted uneasily.

"Captain Daniels here saw it with his own eyes." Eden stated, and Harper turned his gaze towards Graham, who nodded.

"And you trust he is telling the truth?" Harper asked, wounding Daniels slightly.

"Put it this way William, I trust him a lot more than I trust you. He _listens,_ you see." Eden retorted, and Harper's expression grew cold.

"I see. I shall relay your decision to the board, Fleet Admiral Eden." Harper spoke flatly, and then turned around, his medals jingling on his chest. He exited the room, not before shooting an angry look at Graham, who squirmed.

"I hate that man." Eden muttered into his glass.

Captain Daniels couldn't quite agree. He did, however, hate Eden, and resented the way the HIGHCOM Chairman treated him like a son.

"Uh, sir? I'm going to go retire for the night, if that's okay with you." Daniels told Eden, who didn't glance up from his Laptop, merely nodding. The Captain sighed, and left the room, emerging in the outside grounds of the HIGHCOM Facility. He could see the human fleet hovering in space, even from the surface of the Earth. It was a chilly night, and Daniels buttoned up his coat further, wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck, and shoving his hands into the deep pockets of his coat.

In the distance Graham could see two figures conversing with each other behind a wall. He recognised one as Fleet Admiral Harper. Daniels decided to go talk with him.

"Fleet Admiral Harper sir!" the Captain cried out, walking towards him. The two men looked up, and Harper, realising who was addressing him, muttered what seemed to be a swear word.

"What is it?" the Fleet Admiral asked briskly, clearly annoyed. "Eden want to snipe at me some more? Bastard. And you can tell him I said that too. He's a bastard, through and through."

Graham grimaced, and looked at the other man, a Colonel smoking a cigar.

"No sir, I want to apologise for the way your were treated. It wasn't right." Daniels insisted, and Harper took a breath of his pipe, exhaling the smoke as he turned away.

"Forget about it kid. It wasn't your fault." Harper replied.

"If it's any consolation, I think he's an arse too. He only likes me because I was born in London, like him." Graham told the Fleet Admiral, who narrowed his eyes at the Captain.

"He's been an ass ever since we were in High School together on Mars. Philip Eden, always the charmer, always the top achiever. Got all the girls, didn't even have to study to pass his exams. Favourite of all the professors, friends with whoever he pleased. the He's a monster inside though, something broke in him the day his brother was killed by an Elite. He hates the Elites for that reason. The board shares my view on him." Harper explained, and Graham blinked. He'd never known that.

"With all due respect sir, why was he elected to chairman of Highcom if no one liked him?" Daniels questioned, and Harper roared at that.

"Elected? Don't make me laugh son, he got that position because Hood was his Uncle, and for no other reason. Hood; he was a good man. We were friends. Even he didn't like his bastard nephew nephew." the Fleet Admiral said. As he did, it started to snow. Harper cursed.

"Snowfall in July! It's not right I tell you, those Elites messed something up when they glassed Africa last year. Screw this, I'm going to the pub. Fancy a pint of stout Captain? Now that we're chums and all." Harper suggested, and Daniels nodded appreciatively.

"Sure thing sir." he replied.

"And you can stop calling me sir, I hate that when I'm not on deck. Call me William, or Will. _Not_ Bill or Billy though. Understand?" Harper growled, and Graham smiled.

"Sure thing sir--Will. My name's Graham." he held out his hand, and Harper took it, shaking.

"I'm Colonel Miles. You can call me Miles." the Colonel standing next to Harper spoke for the first time. Harper chuckled.

"Not wanting to get on first name terms Miles? Or is because you're name's Cornelius?" the Fleet Admiral roared again, and Miles flushed.

"I told you not to tell anyone that, jeez. Well I'm not buying you a drink, you can pay for yourself." the Colonel huffed, and Harper grumbled something about him being a spoilsport.

"I'll just claim Admiral privileges, tell the bartender of a few major victories against the Covenant and Elites. That usually earns me a few pints of beer. Come on, let's go."

The trio walked through the snowfall towards the nearby town. Daniels looked up at the tiny ships above and sighed. Soon enough he'd be back on one of them, wondering if he was going to live.


	30. Chapter 30

**Part 29 - Set in motion  
**  
"Fleetmaster, our vessel has been boarded by the parasite! I shall destroy us, and them with our ship." a shipmaster told R'tas over the fleet wide intercom, who nodded sadly.

"By your word brother. Truly you are a courageous Sangheili. May the Gods be with you." the Sangheili leader replied, focusing his eyes on the boarded ship of his fleet.

"And you, noble one." the shipmaster replied, terminating the link moments before the ship exploded in a violet cloud of plasma, destroying the boarding Flood and their potential hosts.

R'tas didn't have time to grief though, for the Flood held his attention fast. Both the Separatist and Covenant fleets had been at Sangheilios battling the Parasite fleet for over ten minutes now. The Flood were stronger in number, with well over one and twenty ships, compared to the Separatist and Covenant's 75. Still, they were making progress, and had so far destroyed many a Flood ship. Perhaps they would win after all.

Still, it was strange that the Flood had such a small fleet; Sangheilios had well over 400 ships docked when the Parasite dominated it. Perhaps the beasts did not know how to pilot them.

"Covenant Hierarchs, how is your own side of the battle faring?" R'tas questioned over the intercom, and a moment later he received an answer from Sanctity.

"The Flood are pressing hard, but we will overcome, by the grace of the Forerunners." the elderly Prophet reported, and R'tas nodded, shutting off the link momentarily. He had his own ship to command.

"Flood ships, starboard! Burn their heathen flesh warriors!" R'tas commanded, and a moment later plasma torpedoes surged out of the _Intent_, sailing towards the standard infected cruisers heading towards them. The plasma cut through the shields of one of the ships, and detonated the fusion heart of the Flood cruisers, shattering it. One of the largest pieces of the wrecked ship crashed into the other Flood cruiser, smashing through the middle. Another bolt of plasma finished the breaking ship off.

"Targets neutralised fleetmaster!" one of R'tas' Zealots cried out in triumph, and the Elite Fleetmaster nodded, gazing out of the observation window to the battle beyond. By his rough estimate, the Flood had lost 15 ships, whilst the Covenant and Elites had lost 10. Considering the Flood possessed more ships, it was likely the battle would be a very close one.

For the next twenty minutes, the two fleets traded fire, both suffering heavy losses. Eventually, the Flood ships had been dwindled down to 90, whilst the Covenant and Separatists had been withered down to a mere 65. Victory was still possible, but it looked slim. Still, Sangheilios was counting on them all.

Just then, there was a surge of light some way off the battle, and R'tas cried out in distress. Through slipspace, nearly 100 Flood ships had arrived; reinforcements. Daedalus evidently saw them too.

"By the Gods, 65 of our ships against 190 of theirs? Impossible. We're all doomed." the Brute Chieftain cried out, pessimistically. R'tas couldn't help but agree with the statement. Misery was clear in all the faces of his subordinates.

"We cannot flee. The Flood would destroy us before we could enter slipspace. We must make our last stand now." the High Prophet of Equanimity breathed over the intercom. He was right. The moment before a ship entered slipspace was when it was most vulnerable, the bending the fabric of space took so much energy that it rendered shields inactive.

"All cruisers, prepare to fire! We shall not go down without a fight." R'tas commanded, as the Flood ships slowly began to encompass the Elite and Covenant ones in a circle.

Suddenly, a Brute Shipmaster in the Covenant fleet barked over the intercom.

"Slipspace rupture on the port side!" the Jiralhanae growled. R'tas growled. More of the Parasite? The universe was truly doomed.

The already present Flood ships were drawing ever nearer. One infected carrier broke off from the main line, and made straight for R'tas's Assault Carrier. The Elite Fleetmaster brought up a control pad, and prepared to self destruct the _Intent._ He would not become one of them.

Just as the Flood ship was about to crash into the Shadow of Intent, something hit it from the port side. Something large, metallic; a human MAC shot.

R'tas slowly turned his gaze to look out of the port observation window, and gasped, his eyes turning moist with surprise.

"The humans! They've come to help!" R'tas cheered, as did the entire conjoined fleet of the Elites and Covenant.

Over 100 human ships were sailing towards the battle, their huge destroyers taking up the front.

The cheering stopped as abruptly as it had began. One of the human Destroyers, which R'tas read to be named _Soul of ice_, fired a MAC round. It was not aimed at the Flood. Instead, it flew past them and smashed into the side of the Prophet of Sanctity's Assault Carrier, ripping through it's shields. The other human ships followed up the attack with Archer pods, which exploded into the Covenant carrier, destroying it finitely. R'tas cried out in surprise.

"Sanctity? Sanctity!" Daedalus shouted over the intercom, lamenting over the loss of his fellow Hierarch. There was no response.

"By the Gods, what are the humans doing?" R'tas breathed, staring out at them. They were firing on both the Flood, _and_ the conjoined fleet of the Elites and Covenant. Just then, a human voice broke out over the intercom, mocking.

"Hope you don't mind that we're late to the party chaps." R'tas recognised it as the voice of Lord Eden. The Elite clenched his fists tightly.

"What in the Gods name do you think you are doing human? Cease your attack on my ships at once, we are not infected!" R'tas demanded, smashing his fist onto the dashboard of his ship. All he received in reply was a laugh full of mirth.

"Oh, you are an infection Elite. Just not of the Flood. Tell the Devil that humanity sent you." Eden spoke coldly, and then he terminated the line, leaving R'tas standing there on his ship as the humans cut through the Flood, shooting down his fleet as well"

"Fall back! Get around the other side of the Parasite! Put some distance between us and the humans, now!"

"Hold on..." the Didact warned, as the Dreadnought cut through the sky of the Dyson Sphere. John grasped onto a metal bar affixed to the inner hull tightly with a single hand. The two were inside the -blam!-pit of the ship. John's curiosity had overcome his restraint, he wanted to see how this ship flew.

Logically, the Dreadnought should have broken the atmosphere, and entered space. It was what John was used to, and, despite knowing what would happen in actuality, it was still half unexpected.

Rather than break the bonds of the sphere, the Dreadnought seemed to distort, and slow down. A rift appeared at the tip of the Forerunner ship; like a slipspace hole but not quite the same. The world went blurry, until a moment later, they were in slipspace. Or something like slipspace. In actuality, it seemed a lot like the version of slipspace he'd entered in the past when they had salvaged the Forerunner crystal from the burning Reach.

"How long?" John asked, walking up to the Forerunner, who looked thoughtful.

"Ten minutes. I know, it's slow, but this Dreadnought isn't in peak condition." the Forerunner said casually, grimacing in what seemed like an apology. The Master Chief let out a noise of disbelief.

"Slow? Didact, with our ships, it would take months to travel from Onyx to Earth." John told the Forerunner, who's noble brow rose, tapered ears quivering.

"Months? How extraordinary." the Didact remarked, smiling.

It seemed the Forerunner had not been exaggerating; for but a few minutes later, they emerged out of slipspace, and John could clear see Earth looming in the distance. Earth. Even though he was a colonist, born on Eridanus II (Which had been glassed by the Covenant back in 2530), every human still felt a tenuous connection to their species' planet of origin.

"Home sweet home." Johnson breathed, coming up behind John after entering the -blam!-pit. Another example of a man who's curiosity overcame restraint. The Spartan nodded as the Dreadnought sailed past the Lunar colony.

After having secured the Apex with Johnson, the rest of Blue Team had met up with them. The Didact had then fired up the Dreadnought, with everyone on board. And now, they were back at Earth.

John looked forward to having a bit of peace and quiet. The Didact would be able to convince the Elites to give up fighting; they viewed him as a God, after all, and once that had been done humanity would be easy to placate. Perhaps John would finally retire; he'd seen enough war and loss to last him a lifetime. It would be nice to have a normal life for once. Although given his size and stature, it would be difficult for him not to draw attention to himself.

There was but ship orbiting the planet, what seemed to be an ONI Prowler. How strange. As the Forerunner Dreadnought approached closer to Earth, the human ship noticed them, and swivelled towards them. With his keen eyesight, John could see the MAC cannon of the ship unfold in preparation. The Spartan tapped the Didact on the shoulder.

"I think they might think we're hostile, the last guy who flew one of these Dreadnoughts wasn't exactly a friendly guy. Can you patch us through with a communications link?" John questioned, and the Didact nodded, hitting a few keys on the terminal in front of him. A moment later, a voice answered.

"This is Commander Samuel Bairns, Office of Naval Intelligence, Section Three. Who goes there?" the voice asked, and John smiled at the human voice, even if it did belong to a spook. It had been far too long.

"_I believe he's the one who blew up our Seraph at Onyx._" Cortana informed the Master Chief helpfully, who's eyebrows rose. This would indeed be interesting.

"Spartan 117, and others. Mind directing that cannon elsewhere?" John questioned, and there was a large gasp on the other end of the communications link.

"Master Chief? You're alive!" Commander Bairns cried out in a half laugh, half sob. "Dark Harvest, he's alive!"

"Quite so sir. I would however, advise you to keep your MAC gun aimed at that ship until you confirm who is on board. I would be happy to send a--" an eerie voice spoke. _An ONI Spectre,_ John thought, remembering the name for the 6th Generation ONI 'Smart' AIs.

"It's the Master Chief Dark, who're you expected to be with him? An Elite?" Samuel laughed, and John couldn't help but wince, looking through the one way glass of the -blam!-pit to see the Arbiter conversing with the two remaining Spartan IIIs outside, Tom and Lucy. Both had seemed incredibly down after Ash, Olivia, and Mark had been killed. Still, they all had the slipspace pods with Team Katana within. Perhaps in the future, they could be unsealed. The Didact had taken a look earlier, and had said that all hope was not lost.

"Even so sir, I highly recommend that you allow me to--" the ONI Spectre began to insist, before being cut off once again by the Spook.

"I recommend you shut your trap Dark. You still there Master Chief? I don't suppose you've got a smaller transport on board do you? Only I don't think that...thing of yours will dock very well on an Orbital Defence Platform." the Commander asked, and John looked questioningly at the Didact, who nodded.

"That we do, in the lower bay of the Dreadnought." the Forerunner spoke in a melodic voice. John nodded, turning back to the intercom.

"We do. Which Platform? The Cairo?" John asked, seeing as how it was the closest. Samuel affirmed his question.

"Thanks for the help Spook, be ready for a shock though, we've got quite the convoy here." Johnson advised, and there was a spluttering from the other end.

"Sergeant Johnson? Is that you? But I--we held a funeral for you! The Arbiter said you were dead, that he saw you die!" Commander Bairnes cried, obviously bewildered. Avery Johnson chuckled, lighting a cigar.

"Until you see my soul float up to that place we call heaven Spook, then consider me immortal." the Sergeant Major laughed, turning to face the Didact as he left the -blam!-pit to lead them to the transport. "Meet you on the Cairo."

The link was terminated, and John looked once again down at Earth. Beautiful. But only one ship defending? Something was wrong. Perhaps retirement wouldn't come for a while yet.

"...and so now the fleet has gone to Sangheilios, to wipe out the Flood. And the Elites." Samuel finished with an air of finality, collapsing into his soft chair and taking a sip of brandy. John frowned. He had finished his tale a little while ago, and the ONI Commander had decided to believe him. The Master Chief was finding the Commander's story even harder to believe.

"Why are you still here?" John asked, taking a sip of his own drink. Water, Purified.

"Eden asked me to stay and watch out in case the Flood try to come here. If they do, I'm to alert him immediately with a Slipspace COM." Samuel explained, indicating a machine in the corner of the room. John had heard of these things before; apparently very expensive, they could send messages through slipspace.

"So what do we do now?" Mendez asked, leaning forwards.

"Well, there is no other alternative. We must leave for Sangheilios at once." the Arbiter suddenly instructed, whilst being looked at suspiciously by the ONI Commander. Fred stood up, and stared the Elite in the eye.

"So you can what, join up with your Elites and command their fleet? I'm not having you imperilling humanity's chance of survival. You can stay--" the Spartan leader began to argue, before John stood up, suddenly angry that Fred would attack his friend in such a manner.

"No one is going to succeed in this war between us and the Elites; because there won't be a war. We're all going to Sangheilios, to stop the Flood, and stop this fighting. Understand?" John asked angrily, his face in the slightly nervous face of Fred. Finally, the Spartan leader pushed John away.

"I'm sorry _Master Chief_, but the last time I checked, I was the higher rank. And I say we lock the Elite up in a cell, maybe even kill him." Fred growled, leering at John aggressively.

"_Chief..._" Cortana warned.

Mendez then stood up, hands out in a soothing manner. He walked between John and Fred, who were standing faced against each other, fists clenched.

"All right Spartans, stand down." the CPO trainer instructed, looking from Fred to John. He was a brave one, to stand between two angry men who stood over seven feet each.

"Screw this, that Elite's dead." Fred breathed out, snatching Mendez's pistol from his sheath in a blink of an eye. Spartan 104 raised the small firearm at the Arbiter, who watched dumbstruck, shields deactivated.

John's body reacted before his mind did. He pushed past the startled CPO Mendez, and struck Fred in the chest with his palm. 104 lost his balance, and the shot of the pistol hit the ceiling, smashing a light bulb.

Fred was soon back up on his feet, and threw a punch towards John. It hit the Master Chief square in the face, a knock which would have killed a normal man. As it was, John merely reeled back, before diving towards Fred's legs, tackling the crazed Spartan Junior Lieutenant to the grand. John fell on top of Fred, smashing his friend, his brother in the face time and time again.

Fred then grabbed John by the shoulders, and rapidly rolled the Master Chief over, so he was the one on top. The Junior Lieutenant picked John up, and threw him against the wall. The steel dented. John's lip was bloody by now, as a result of the fight. He caught another punch Fred aimed at him, and threw 104 into a table, the legs of which instantly snapped.

The fight went no further however, for at that moment, Kelly and Linda had snapped out of their shocked state of mind, and quickly restrained the two clashing Spartans. John struggled, but found Linda's grip to be as hard as rock. The Spartan IIIs came over to assist in his restraint, and John stopped trying, collapsing to the floor, weeping -- not out of pain, but emotional upset. Fred was in a similar state of mind, eyes puffy and leaking.

John was suddenly aware of his surroundings, and of the room of spectators staring at both him and Fred. Commander Bairns was cowering behind an overturned desk, knuckles white. Johnson's hand shook as he lit a cigar. The Arbiter was still staring at Fred, as if asking 'why?' The Didact had a thoughtful look upon his face, showing no real reaction. Of course, Mendicant Bias, and the two other Monitors had gone to help Doctor Halsey with something, which was a small blessing. John would have been embarrassed beyond measure if the Doctor had been watching. Mendez stood over the two collapsed Spartans, shaking his head in disapproval.

"That's not how I brought you up to behave Spartans. I expect better. Fred, you know better than to aim a pistol at someone who's done nothing wrong. Master Chief, you shouldn't have got into a fist fight." Mendez told the two angrily, and for some reason, John felt...relief? It had been so long since Mendez had been watching over them, that even being chastised by the man felt good.

John stole a look over at Fred, who met eye contact. The Spartan Junior Lieutenant quickly scowled and looked away. John ran a bitter tongue over his bloody lips; and the blood wasn't just his.

"Right, I'm gonna let you back up sir." Linda told John, "Kelly will do the same with Fred. No more fighting, okay?"

John nodded, regretfully. Fred seemed to do it reluctantly. Linda and Tom eased their painful grip on John's arm, and the Master Chief rose, coughing in embarrassment.

"Well, that would have made for great Youtube material." Johnson chuckled, trying to make a joke out of the whole situation. No one laughed.

"Johnson, you dinosaur, Youtube's been dead for years." Mendez muttered, shaking his head in mock despair.

"Shut up Mendez. Now are you two gonna kiss and make friends, or am I going to have to tell the Principal?" Avery asked Fred and John, who both hung their heads in shame. Fred was the first to look up.

"I'm...sorry Master Chief. I acted rashly." the Junior Lieutenant apologised, and John nodded his head. This wasn't one of those times where both were to blame. Fred had been about to do something stupid, and John had rightly stopped him.

"It's not me you should be apologising to Fred." John muttered, nodding his head over at the general direction of the Arbiter. Fred closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath, and turned towards the Elite.

"I'm sorry Arbiter, I shouldn't have done that." the Spartan leader told Thel, who nodded gravely.

"May we thank the stars that...John over there was able to prevent such an event from happening. There is no sense in holding a grudge Spartan; I forgive you." the Arbiter spoke, and the hint of a smile touched Fred's blood red lips. Fred then turned back to John, his look uneasy.

"I'm not fit to be a leader Master Chief, as I just proved. To be honest, the pressure of it has been getting to me. Would you take command of Blue Team again? Please." Spartan 104 asked John, who was slightly taken aback.

"But you're a higher rank." John protested.

"Screw rank. The universe looks to be at an end anyway, what's a few bars and insignias in the light of that?" Fred protested. John nodded, and turned to the others.

"Would everyone else be okay with this?" the Chief asked, and there was nodding and muttering around the room. It would seem the decision had been made for him. "Very well then, I'll take charge. Unless Commander Bairns is coming to Sangheilios with us?"

Samuel looked up then, a wary look still on his pale face. The ONI Spook shook his head.

"No, no. I'm staying here, like Eden ordered me. Are there any resources I can give you from the armoury?" the Commander asked, and John looked at the Didact, who nodded.

"Yes, we'll need new weapons. The ones from the Dyson Sphere will have been cooked as we left the sphere. How advanced is the fusion technology humanity uses?" the Forerunner asked, and John looked at the other humans in the room.

"Uh...pretty much non existent." the Master Chief told the Forerunner, who nodded.

"Ah, I see. You use refined Plasma then? Dark matter concentrate?" the Didact questioned, and John shook his head once again.

"We use bullets. Propelled by chemicals." John informed the Forerunner, who smiled.

"Very amusing Reclaimer. Now really, what do you use?"

"I just said; bullets."

The smile fell from the Didact's face, to be replaced by one of sheer disbelief.

"You're not joking are you? Precursors above, you still use bullets? Once this situation is dealt with, I shall have to teach you some of your lost methods." the Forerunner said casually, sighing. John frowned. _Lost methods?_ Before he could ask the Didact to clarify though, Commander Bairns spoke up.

"Well, all I know is that if you pump enough lead into something, it dies; fusion or no fusion. Come on, I'll take you to the armoury." the Commander wheeled around, and beckoned for the group to follow.

John nodded, and looked around. Fred was still eyeing him warily. John sighed, and walked over to him.

"Listen, Fred, let's just forget about what happened. It was a moment of idiocy on both our parts. Right now we've got to focus on stopping the Flood; and not the Elites. You with me?" John asked, holding his arm out. Fred grasped it tightly in a brotherly manner.

"Aye sir, I'm with you."


	31. Chapter 31

Longest. Part. Ever. 25000 characters. And it's not even finished yet! Enjoy this, I slaved over it, and went through three cups of tea.

**Part Thirty - Standing up to the bully**

"That's it lads, give 'em hell!" Eden whooped over the intercom to his fleet as the human ships sliced through the Flood and Elite ones. Captain Graham Daniels scowled, disgusted. It seemed brutal, dishonourable to attack a weaker enemy who hadn't attacked in return.

"Sir; maybe we should leave the Elites. Focus on the Flood I mean." Daniels suggested to the cockney Fleet Admiral, who shook his head.

"No need son, we're doing fine. Stand tall, for today is a great day for humanity!" Eden replied, and Graham had to repress yet another scowl. _Son?_ Eden was but a few years older than he was!

"But Lord Eden sir, don't you think what we're doing is...wrong?" Daniels blurted out before he could stop himself. The room fell silent. Graham was very aware of the marines standing in the room, all corrupt pals of Lord Eden, watching him. Eden turned to look at him.

"Wrong? We're carrying out God's will Captain, it's our fate to rule this Galaxy." the HIGHCOM chairman snapped back, and Graham's eyes widened.

"Our _fate?_ Surely you don't believe in that Manifest Destiny type crap sir?" Daniels protested, and instead of being shouted at, as he had expected, Eden merely smiled and nodded.

"I do. God gave us the power to get through the war, and now he wants us to finish the job, undo the mistake he made." the man lectured, a crazed look in his eye. The common Christian belief these days was that the Covenant and all non-humans were earlier creations of the Lord; mistakes if you will. In other words, bollocks. Daniels shook his head, whipping his pistol out in the blink of an eye and aiming it at Fleet Admiral Eden's head.

The adrenalin rushed leader of the UNSC didn't even notice the cold steel pressed against his cap at first. Not until Daniels dug it in harder. Immediately, Eden spun around, and cried out in surprise when he saw the gun aimed now in his face. The corrupt marines immediately reacted, aiming MA2Bs at Graham. They didn't fire though. Neither did the rebellious Captain.

"Captain...what are you doing?" Eden questioned nervously, his voice breaking a little. Daniels took a deep breath.

"Stopping a madman. Command the fleet to stop firing. Now." the Captain ordered, thrusting his own radio at the Fleet Admiral. Graham didn't want Eden's hand going anywhere near his belt. Eden glared at him, before gingerly accepting the radio. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, where the gun was pointed.

"You'll regret this." Eden threatened, before bringing the radio to his mouth. "Cease fire! Wait for further orders."

Daniels was breathing heavily, but his hand kept steady somehow. He felt a slight warm sensation on his back, and realised dozens of laser sights were being aimed at him. He wasn't distracted, not even for a second.

"You try anything, I put a bullet between his eyes." the Captain threatened. His back cooled. Eden was smiling now, although it was a nervous smile.

"What now Captain? Now that the fleet has stopped firing, it won't be long before the Flood decides to hit back. You kill me, then you'll get killed, and everything will go as planned. You keep that gun aimed at me, the Flood infects us all. And so, you see, the only logical choice here is to release me, and hope I'll be forgiving." Eden persuaded in a honey laden voice. _God it was tempting to do what he said._ But Daniels didn't waver, and kept the gun aimed at Eden. At least for now, he'd stopped the slaughter.

"Not gonna work arse­hole." Graham retorted, never taking his eyes of Eden. He could not help wonder what he was going to do. Perhaps the Elites would be able to destroy the Flood and capture the UNSC fleet non-violently.

Suddenly, the huge door to the room burst open, and a man's voice yelped in shock.

"Hey, Eden, what's the big deal? It's great we're not killing the Elites, but the Flood will...ah, hell." the newly arrived Fleet Admiral Harper broke off as he saw the scene before him. Daniels wasn't idiotic enough to turn his head, but he shifted his eyes in the direction of his friend. It was then Eden struck. The Fleet Admiral brought up an arm, knocking Graham's hand holding the gun into the air. It fired, bouncing off the ceiling. Before the Captain could level it back down at Lord Eden, the man kneed him down below. Graham's eyes went wide with pain, and he collapsed to the floor, feeling sick. When he looked up again through his tears, Eden had levelled the gun at him.

"Sanchez! Niles! Tie up this treacherous piece of scum." the UNSC leader ordered, and two corrupt marines grabbed Daniels by the arms, sneers on their faces. They bound his hand and legs behind his back with rope, and threw him on the floor. Graham struggled, and couldn't get up.

"All right Philip, stop right there." Admiral Harper protested, holding up a hand. The group of corrupt soldiers spun around, and a dozen laser sights appeared on his chest. Eden smirked.

"No thanks _Will._ I'm fine as I am. Tie him up too."

Harper's face fell, and he frowned at the marines approaching him.

"If you dare lay one finger on me, I swear to God you'll be on death row by tomorrow!" Harper promised, and for a moment, the three marines halted. Eden, sat down on his chair once again, waved a lazy hand.

"Overruled."

A few moments later, Harper was tied up and thrown next to Daniels, who offered a weak smile as they both lay on the ground, cheek pressed against the cold floor. The smile wasn't returned.

"Eden! You won't get away with this!" Harper threatened, despite facing in the complete opposite direction of the corrupted Fleet Admiral. Daniels saw Eden walk up behind him.

"Oh, but I will. It would be the simplest thing in the world to make it seem like you were caught in friendly fire. No one would question your deaths. No one will." Eden whispered in Harper's ear as he bent down. Graham felt his mouth go dry -- Eden was going to kill them both!

"As it is," Eden continued, "first I will let you watch humanity's triumph, and you shall die knowing you are traitors."

Graham sighed as a marine grabbed him, and thrust him into a chair before the observation window of the room. Harper was thrown next to him.

"What the hell were you playing at lad?" Harper demanded, with no real anger in his voice, more of a regretful tone really.

"I couldn't just stand by and do nothing. I couldn't let genocide happen when it was within my power to try and stop it." Daniels protested, and there was a great exhalation from Harper.

"Yeah, I know. Well, let's hope God was watching eh? Maybe we'll be bumped up the queue and get straight into heaven."

There was a noise from behind them, as Lord Eden wedged his own chair in between Daniels and Harper. There was a great grin on the corrupt Fleet Admiral's face, and he put his arms mockingly around the shoulders of his two foes, taunting them.

"All right mates, ready to watch the fireworks?" Eden asked jovially, and Harper attempted, to no avail, to shrug Eden off.

"Come on Eden, _think_ for a second. What if we kill the Elites, and the Flood turn out to have even more ships? We'll have pretty much screwed ourselves. We need allies." Graham argued, and the UNSC leader shook his head happily.

"We didn't have allies before the Great War, we certainly don't need them now. Humanity is on a roll, young traitor, and nothing will stop us." Eden replied, smiling. He then brought up the radio Daniels had passed over but minutes before to his mouth.

"Resume fire. Kick their arse."

Graham could only look on helplessly as the UNSC ships began to fire again. The Flood, battered on both sides, had had their numbers reduced drastically. The battle was turning into less of a bid to defeat the Flood, and more of a war between the UNSC and Elites.

"Sir, new contacts slipping in!" an officer called over the intercom of the Fleet, and Daniels looked left to see Eden scowl. Graham contemplated on shouting back, for help, but knew Eden would kill him before he could finish the first word.

"Dammit, more Elites? Or perhaps Commander Kiara finally decided to comply with my order and bring her fleet here. It better be her, or when this is over she's ending up like you Captain." Eden muttered, almost to himself. Graham sighed. Half of him hoped it was more Elites, but he knew deep down that it was most likely, as Eden had thought, Kiara's fleet.

It turned out it was neither. From the great rift in space around 100 miles to the left poured out a strange ship. It looked like the Prophet of Truth's old Dreadnought, although with subtle differences. Graham felt his mouth go dry, and looked sidewise at Eden, whose knuckles had turned white, his face ashen.

"Sir? What do we do?" the officer cried, unsure. Eden snarled.

"Open fire! Destroy it!" the UNSC leader commanded, shouting. There was a feeble 'aye sir' from the officer, and the link cut off.

Many MAC rounds were fired at the Dreadnought, which was heading towards the centre fray. Captain Daniels could see plasma torpedoes from the Elites on the other side of the Flood ships surge forward too. Evidently, they presumed it to be hostile. And this also showed that they'd managed to regroup together.

The shots completely missed the ship though, one moment it was there, the next, after a faint shimmer, it was gone. Graham looked at the scene in bemusement. There was nothing to be seen. He held his breath.

A few moments later, there was a loud rumble below the battlefield. Eden seemed to gasp. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the same Dreadnought flew upwards, less than a mile away from the _Soul of Ice._ Shock-waves glistened, and the human flagship was shaken, before being plunged into complete darkness as the electronic systems were shut off.

"My God..." Eden breathed, staring at the wondrous sight before him. He then frowned, regathering his thoughts, before barking over the still working radio. "Someone hit the emergency generator!"

There was a pause, before a voice echoed over the small hand-held radio.

"It's fried too sir! The Dreadnought's sending a transport, it's heading towards this ship? What do we do?" the panicking officer cried, and Eden scowled.

"Pull yourself together man! Grab a rifle and shoot anything that comes out of that transport. I don't care what it is, shoot it!" the Fleet Admiral commanded, his usually calm complexion replaced by one of anxiety and fear.

"Oh my God, it's right outside the booth! With all due respect Lord Eden, screw you! We're out of here!" the officer cried back. Eden cursed at the man, threatening all sorts of things. The only response was a wave of static, followed by the sound of heavy boots pounding a few moments later. And those weren't the leather boots of an officer, they were something else.

"Well well, what now Phil?" Harper jested, still facing the observation window. The Forerunner Dreadnought had placed itself between the _Soul of Ice_ and the rest of the skirmish. It was gargantuan, easily four times the size of the _Soul of Ice._.

"Shut up!" Eden screamed back, jumping up. Graham tried to crane his head backwards, but couldn't see over the tall head board of the chair. Eden then gave orders to the corrupt marines. "Form a defensive barrier, in front of me! Shoot anything that enters!"

The marines looked a little disgruntled that they were acting as a shield for the UNSC Fleet Admiral, but complied with the order, setting up behind any and all cover. Flash lights were activated, cutting through the darkness.

After a long four minutes, there was a bang at the reinforced door. Followed by another. Graham's heart was racing a mile a second, and Harper looked like he felt. After a few tries, the banging stopped, replaced by an eerie silence.

Then a hissing noise began, emerging from the other side of the door. A red glow began to appear.

"They're cutting through! Ready yourselves!" Eden screeched, a Battle Rifle in his own hand. Daniels doubted he could even fire it.

Regardless, the marines snapped to attention, aiming rifles at the spot where the red glow was moving upwards, cutting a hole in the door. After a minute of dreadful waiting, the metal chunk fell to the floor, and a figure stepped through the smoke.

The marines fired immediately, rifles ringing out shot after shot. Graham saw golden shields flare, before the owner of them stepped to the side, out of the smoke. He had his hands held up. The marines, shocked, stop firing.

"Whoa, hold fire." the Master Chief instructed, standing alone near the broken door. The marines immediately looked amongst each other. Eden had said to shoot anything, but, well this was the Master Chief. They turned to look at a stricken Lord Eden.

"Master Chief." the UNSC leader stated bluntly. The Spartan nodded.

"Yes, it's me. Long story. Why are you firing on the Elites? Stop it, now. The Flood are the greater threat." the Chief ordered, and Graham, watching for a sign, saw Eden's eyes narrow slightly. With that speech, the Spartan had just shown he was on the same 'side' as Graham and Fleet Admiral Harper. The Master Chief looked around the room, and, eyes resting on the bound up Harper, tilted his head in surprise.

"Admiral Harper? What are you doing tied up?" the Spartan asked, and Graham resisted the urge to groan. The answer was so obvious, how could the Chief not see it?

"Chief! Behind you!" the Fleet Admiral cried, and quick as lightning, the fabled Spartan spun around, only to see a marine with a sneaking look upon his face, which quickly turned to one of fear. The Master Chief looked down at the marine's hand, to see a plasma knife, given by the Elites back in the alliance.

"What are you--?" the Spartan began to ask, taking out an Assault rifle nervously. He then looked at the room as if seeing it for the first time, the marines with their aggressive eyes, and Eden with a sneer on his face.

"You couldn't stay dead could you? I'm not having you ruin everything Master Chief; marines, kill him!" Eden ordered. Before the corrupted soldiers who suddenly had a purpose could even release the safety on their weapons though, the Master Chief had already thrown the marine beside him into a group of others. The Spartan dodged the first wave of bullets, the few that got through bouncing to the floor with a hiss, reflected by his shields.

_It's like he's doing an elegant dance that only he can perform._ Graham thought with wonder. The Captain watched as the Spartan jumped into a small cluster of marines, limbs moving around manically. After a few moments, they were all crouching on the ground in pain; some unconscious. Daniels noted that the Chief wasn't using a weapon, but instead, head had ripped a bar of metal from the wall, which he was carrying easily in one hand. It must have weighed a ton.

As the one sided battle waged on, very few shots actually hitting the Master Chief, a marine was flung over to where Harper sat. He looked up at the bound Fleet Admiral with a small titter of apprehension. Harper snorted in disgust, before brining his feet off the ground and smashing the marine's face with his boots. The soldier quivered, out cold. As he did so, the power of the ship came back on, and the room was flooded with light.

Graham then spotted the unconscious marine's knife at his belt. He turned to Harper.

"Sir, can you get that knife?" the Captain asked, and the older naval officer's eyes brightened considerably.

"I can try. And for the last time, stop calling me sir." Harper said, toppling of his chair onto the unconscious man's body. It was an incredibly odd spectacle. Graham could only fidgit anxiously as the Fleet Admiral contorted his body in an effort to reach the knife. From what the Captain could hear, it sounded as if behind him, the Master Chief was winning. On his own. Against nearly fifty people. Incredible.

Eventually, Harper managed the wrestle the leather bound hilt of the small knife out with his teeth, and rose to his knees, grunting at Daniels to take the knife from him. The Captain leaned forward, and managed to grasp the hilt with three fingers. Soon, he had a good grasp of it. Harper shuffled towards him and held out his bound wrists. With no small difficulty, Graham managed the rest the the keen edge of the knife on the already frayed rope binding Harper. He then moved his body back and forwards, the dagger along with it. After a few seconds, the Fleet Admiral's hands were free. Captain Daniels then tossed the dagger to Harper, who caught it deftly with his free hands. From there on, freeing himself and Graham was a breeze, and in less than a minute, the two friends were stood on their feet.

The Captain turned around, and saw the carnage. Nearly every marine was lying on the ground, unconscious. It seemed a few were dead, necks snapped or twisted at awkward angles. The last few had fallen back to the pedestal where Lord Eden cowered, backed against the wall. Graham and Harper, picking up Battle Rifles, strode towards the group confidently, weapons aimed at the marines. The beaten soldiers looked at each other, and as if they were on some psychic link, simultaneously threw their weapons on the ground, putting their hands up. Eden growled.

"Cowards!" the Chairman of HIGHCOM ordered, but he got no response. The Master Chief then strode forwards, and grasped Eden with one huge, armoured hand. The Spartan lifted him as if he weighed no more than a bag of sugar, and threw him on the floor. Eden gasped in surprise, stumbling to his feet.

"Now, what's going on here?" the Chief asked Harper, keeping a pistol levelled at Eden at all times. The Spartan tracked Eden's every slight movement with the hand holding the gun, as if he could sense the small tremors in the ground.

"Lord Eden over there got a little too power hungry I think. He wants to wipe out the Elites." Fleet Admiral Harper informed the Master Chief, a smile on his face. "It's good to see you John."

"You too William." the Master Chief nodded. Graham's eyebrows rose, his friend was on first name terms with the Chief?

"You can't stop it now. The fleet is already attacking." Eden spat out from the floor, between bloodied gums. Harper sneered at the disgraced leader.

"A simple order from me will put a stop to that you bastard. I'll just tell the fleet you fainted when you saw the Dreadnought." he mocked, kicking Eden in the side, who doubled over in pain. The Master Chief glanced down briefly, before looking up at Graham.

"Sir. How are you? I've got bio-foam if you need it." the Spartan told the Captain, who felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards. The Master Chief had just called him 'sir'!

"Erm--no, no I'm fine...Master Chief. Thanks for helping us." Graham muttered, angry at himself afterwards for being so nervous. He was just a man for God's sake. A man who was over seven feet tall, had the blood of legions of Covenant on his hand, and who had single handedly saved the human race on multiple occasions. On reflection, maybe the Captain _should_ have been nervous.

"That's my job. Now, we've got to stop fighting against the Elites, and wipe out the Flood." the Spartan seemed very linear minded, although Graham knew that the Chief was actually many times smarter than he himself was. The Captain had had the honour to meet Lieutenant Commander Fhjad 084 years ago, one of the Spartans who apparently had been mutilated in a plasma explosion, or at least that was what ONI said. He then, unfortunately, developed Parkinson's disease. Whilst the crippled Spartan had been confined to a chair, his mind was sharper than the spikes on a nettle leaf.

"Of course, of course. Just give me a few moments, I'll try to contact the fleet. Do you suppose you could move that...ship out of the way?" Harper asked the Master Chief, who nodded.

"Of course." the Spartan replied, bringing an arm up to his helmet. "Didact, can you move the Dreadnought? The situation here is over."

_Didact?_ Graham wondered, bemused. His curiosity was abruptly ended, however, when the huge Dreadnought outside the ship vanished once again, in the blink of an eye. The battle was once again revealed; and it was still pretty much a stale mate. The Flood, however, had managed to move out of the middle, and so were now a much more serious threat. It was like a triangle of conflict.

"Right, there we go!" Harper crowed in success as he managed to open a communications line with the UNSC fleet. "All ships, cease firing on the Elites, and concentrate on the Flood!"

There was a pause, before a voice called back.

"Fleet Admiral Harper? What happened to Eden?" Lieutenant Commander Daryl.

"He fainted when he saw that huge ship. Anyway, I'm in charge now. Understand?"

"Aye sir, I do. Everyone stop firing on the Elites! Focus on the Flood!" Daryl roared at his crew, and there was a murmur of confusion from his end. However, soon enough, the UNSC ships, one by one, diverted their attention to the Flood. Graham laughed, giddy with success. Now they only had to contact the Elites...

...the line was set up a few moments later, and an image of a rather stressed R'tas Vadum' appeared on screen. The Elite wore a scowl on his face.

"By the Gods, you've finally stopped firing? How long will that last I wonder, before you--"

"R'tas, all is well, fear not brother." a wizened voice rumbled from the doorway, and Graham's gazed in wonder as an Elite who must have been at least eight feet tall walked in the room. He wore ornate, silver armour.

"Arbiter! You're alive!" R'tas cried out in joy, his face brightening. _So this is the legendary Arbiter..._ Graham thought, mouth opening.

"That I am my friend. I'm sorry we parted on such bad terms the last time we met. Do you forgive me?" the Arbiter asked, moving past an indignant Admiral Harper and moving up close to the screen. R'tas uttered a sharp laugh.

"I forgive you? Nay Arbiter, it is I who must beg for _your_ forgiveness. I was a fool, I should never have killed Hood as I did. It's all my fault." the Elite Fleetmaster confessed, hanging his head in shame. The Arbiter shook his head.

"We all made mistakes my friend. However, now is not the time to regret them. Can you have the fleets join up with ours? And that is indeed a mighty fleet you have there R'tas, how on Sangheilios did you recover _Placid Enrichment?_" the Arbiter replied. Graham blinked in confusion. _How on Sangheilios?_ then it dawned that it must be the Elite equivalent of 'how on Earth?' It made sense, he supposed.

"We didn't Arbiter; we have allied with the Covenant." R'tas told his friend proudly, puffing out his chest. There was a collective gasp.

"Truly? That is indeed an impressive feat; can they be trusted?" the Arbiter questioned, frowning.

"More so than the humans, currently." R'tas said a little spitefully. Harper couldn't help but protest.

"Hey, that was because Eden was in charge. He's tied up and gagged right now, don't worry." the Fleet Admiral insisted, and R'tas chuckled.

"Indeed, that is good news. Amongst the best. Very well, Arbiter, we shall link up. And together we shall smash the parasite, and retake Sangheilios!" the Elite Fleetmaster cried, clenching his fist. Graham heard the roar of several other Elites in the background.

"I, and my Spartans will help however we can." the Master Chief pledged, moving into the field of view of the camera. _He has other Spartans with him?_ Graham thought with a sense of awe.

"Spartan! It is good to see you, truly. I must apologise for your treatment upon Sangheilios when you were held captive there. Rest assured that those responsible will be--oh, never mind." R'tas broke off as he realised those responsible were already _dead._ The Elite looked glum.

As they spoke, the two fleets began to converge together. Graham felt a surge of pride; he was the one who had started off this, by challenging Eden! Now the conjoined fleets of both the UNSC and the Elites and Covenant were together, there was no way the Flood could prevail.

That was, until a voice suddenly blared out of the speaker in the Master Chief's helmet. It was that mysterious Didact again.

"The Dreadnought's monitors are picking up slipspace activity, Reclaimer. Hundreds of the Flood ships, approaching." the voice said, and as one, everyone swore.

"Didact, how long have we got?" the Master Chief asked, his voice urgent. There was a pause, and then a reply.

"I'm afraid just over five minutes. You haven't got enough fire-power to wipe them out, flustered as you are. And the Dreadnought's weapon systems were disabled by Offensive Bias long ago. I believe that for now, a tactical retreat is in order." the Didact suggested, and Harper and R'tas, the leaders of the two fleets, glanced at each other.

"It's your call Elite. If we retreat to Earth, then we can join up a real plan, scrounge up the last of our ships, and tend to the wounded. However, I also will tell you that every moment we spend there will allow the Flood to fortify Sangheilios more." Harper informed R'tas. The Elite rubbed his chin.

"I shall not let our blood run freely for no purpose. Even as the old proverbs say "he who fights and runs away lives to fight another day." R'tas replied.

"Hey, we have a similar saying!" Harper cried out, before sobering. "So we retreat then, for now?"

There was a pause, and R'tas glanced to the left. Even though he was watching through a monitor, Graham could tell he was staring sadly at Sangheilios.

"Indeed human, for now."


	32. Chapter 32

**Part 32 - Protectors of Earth**

John blinked in surprise as, out of the thick smoke, one of the Flood came lumbering towards him; three energy swords held in the trio of deformed arms the creature possessed. It seemed to smirk as it advanced towards him, twirling the three blades in intricate motions through the air, intending to intimidate.

The Flood form had obviously never encountered a Spartan before. John didn't flinch, not even when the three blades were but a few metres away from his throat. Instead, he merely reached down to his belt, and drew out from a sheath a thick, weighted combat knife. The Master Chief held it low for a few moments, until the Flood form moved the energy swords so close that John could feel the heat, even through his armour.

At the last possible moment, the Spartan swerved out of the way of the swinging blades, contorting his body in a way which even a trained gymnast would have trouble replicating. The trio of swords flew harmlessly over John's sky facing head, and the Spartan quickly retaliated, coming around full circle and driving the combat knife deep into the Flood form's side. The infected creature; a former Brute John noticed, screamed as it beheld the long knife which entered one side of it's hip and emerged out of the other. Before it could reassert control over its naturally reacting body, John threw a heavy punch at the Flood's head, which flew from its torso, landing several metres ahead. The headless body collapsed to the ground, before laying motionless. Even the Flood needed a brain to operate.

The swords the creature held tumbled to the ground, and John swooped down, picking one up and deactivated the self destruct mechanism. As he pressed another button, the energy sword ignited; weightless and yet still far more powerful than the heaviest of heavy steel broadsword.

Combat felt strange without Cortana advising him. Since being fixed at the shield world, John had forgotten what it was like not having her nattering to him in the midst of battle. Still, she was needed a lot more up in space, the Spartan reasoned. The UNSC had few smart AIs at its disposal, and Cortana was one of the best.

Spartan blue team -- comprised of John, Kelly, Linda and the higher ranked, yet subordinate Fred -- had decided to divide themselves into lone units aiding different ODST Flood response divisions. John was in temporary command of the 105th; the meanest, and most 'bad ass' (As Sergeant Johnson quaintly put) division of Helljumpers there was. He looked ahead to his right and saw Commander Nigel shoot a Carrier form with a 12 gauge shotgun, diving away just before the bulbous creature exploded. Another ODST soon came up and torched the ground where the Carrier had been standing but moments before, to prevent the infection forms spreading out.

John had to admit that the new ODST Flood Response Divisions -- set up after the Ark event in case the infection ever came back -- were very efficient. They wore completely airtight suits, similar in appearance to ODST body armour. The suits were clever in that they read the life signs of the wearer; and if it detected no signals, meaning the wearer was dead, it would release pockets of dangerous acid to burn up the corpse so badly that even the Flood would be able to infect it.

The weapons they used were rather standard, hand-held flame-throwers, plasma burners, and other such weapons. Some of the ODSTs had opted to keep their standard weapons, such as Commander Nigel and his shotgun, which he claimed to be a family heirloom.

Amazing to think that only one Flood ship had broken through the hastily thrown together Maginot-like line -- crashing down at New London -- and yet still the entire city was thrown into chaos. Practically every civilian was dead or infected, bar the few lucky enough to be near a metro entrance; the underground tunnels had sealed blast doors at their entrances created during the Covenant war as a defence. John knew that beneath his feet now, thousands of ordinary men, women and children cowered in relative safety, hoping the 'Council' would be able to deal with the infection.

Their hopes looked to be fruitful, the Chief mused as he drove the sword in his hand through an infected human woman, not hesitating in the least. The combined forces of the humans, Covenant and Separatists seemed to be prevailing in this battle. The Flood were being forced into a corner by the armies, and one by one the various districts were cleared. Still, this was just a small inkling of the huge battle to come on Sangheilios later.

And the naval battle still, John assumed, raged above Earth's atmosphere. If that couldn't be won, then no amount of Flood Response teams would be able to save Earth.

* * * * * * *

Thel Vadam' ran a fond hand across the armrest of the chair he was seated in. Everything was as he remembered, the gash in the headrest from the time when his second had tried to assassinate him; the way the customised seat catered to his large size.

Indeed, the Stylet class ship _Seeker of Truth_ had not changed one bit since Thel had been stripped of his position as Supreme Commander of the Covenant, before being brought before the Council, then condemned to the suicidal role of the Arbiter.

And yet now he was back in the very ship he had once piloted in the _Fleet of Righteous Justice_. It had been far too long.

The stench of the Jiralhanae who had taken this ship after Thel's disgrace was still present, although not too pungent. And Thel had been too pleased that the Chieftain Daedalus had offered him the _Seeker_ back to him to complain about the smell.

It was odd, some had said back in the days of the Covenant, that a Supreme Commander would take such a small ship as a Stylet. It was hardly bigger than a Destroyer, and many times smaller than a standard CCS Battlecruiser, never mind the Assault Carriers even Fleet-masters usually commandeered.

But Thel disliked the grand, powerful ships. There were many reasons for this. Chief among them was that he had no desire to instruct a crew of pilots on how to fly _his_ ship, as he would were he on a standard Cruiser. No, Thel preferred to take the helm of the bridge himself; he loved the exhilarating feeling he experienced when flying. And so he had chosen a Stylet to be his flagship. Odd indeed, but he loved it.

The Stylet class Covenant ship was remarkable, really. Small, with two Pulse Laser Cannons mounted, one underneath and one on top; as well as two small plasma torpedo launchers on each side of the ship. It was designed so as to need as few crew members as could be allowed, and in a pinch, could be piloted by one. Usually, to be on the safe side, Thel would have two or three fellow Sangheili assisting him. He had no need now however, thanks to a very special addition to the crew.

"This feels kind of weird, me helping you. Wasn't too long ago that I was hacking into your battle net at the first Halo ring." Cortana mused as she appeared on the holographic projector next to Thel, who glanced down at her small human female form.

"Well, honoured construct, I feel privileged that you chose to assist me in operating my ship." Thel replied back carefully, not wanting to insult the AI who held his life in her non-corporeal hands. Cortana laughed a warm laugh.

"It's nice to finally help someone with manners. The Chief is an amazing soldier, but he can sometimes be a little--"

"Blunt?" Thel cut in without thinking.

"That's a nice way to put it." the AI joked, folding her arms. Thel allowed himself a slight chuckle before becoming serious once again and lightly touching a pad above, warming up the ship's plasma core engine.

"So what think you our chances of surviving this fray construct?" Thel queried, touching another pad which made the _Seeker of Truth_ rise slowly and steadily off the floor of _Placid Enrichment._

"_Our_ chances, or everyone's?" Cortana asked, hands on hips.

"Both." Thel answered softly, preparing to move the _Seeker of Truth_ out through the shield door and into space, where most of the fleets were already engaged with the Flood.

"I'd tell you Arbiter, but the odds would just depress you." Cortana told Thel solemnly, who suddenly grinned.

"Then it is fortuitous that I care not for statistics." Thel breathed out determinedly, punching the ship's ignition pad. The Stylet darted out of _Placid Enrichment_, and vanished into the carnage.

* * *

John heard the cry of a Brute to his left, and instinctively brought his rifle out, aiming it down at the fallen Jiralhanae's head. He then blinked, remembering he was working with the Covenant now, and lowered the rifle, instead bending down to look at the Brute. It seemed to be trapped under a semi-molten steel girder. The Brute was screaming in agony as the girder seared its flesh. Only half its upper torso was free.

"Can you hear me?" John questioned, laying a hand on the Brute's shaggy shoulder. The Covenant soldier nodded, screams dying, replaced by shock as it beheld first-hand a 'Demon.' John gave a sharp nod back.

"Hold on, I'm going to lift this off you." the Spartan assured the Brute, who remained dumbstruck, merely shaking its head once.

John stood up, and placed a hand on the underbelly of the collapsed girder. He saw shields flare around his hands as the heat began to eat away at them. Grimacing, the Spartan diverted more power to his hands, boosting the shields. He gripped the steel firmly, and began to pull.

It was heavy, solid and nearly twice as tall than the straining Spartan. Yet John persevered, heaving and grunting until finally, the girder shifted that critical inch, and the Spartan was able to lift the huge steel bar up and toss it to the side. John reached down and offered the Brute a helping hand. After a few uncertain moments, the Covenant soldier grasped John's hand gratefully, and the Spartan pulled to Brute to his feet. As he released his grip however, the Brute began to fall to the ground again, and would have had John not deftly caught him. The Brute was heavy, put John had lifted heavier. He draped the large beast like person over his shoulder, before gently lowering him down against a nearby wall.

"My--my thanks, Demon," the Brute gasped out wearily, breathing deep. John nodded. He took a look at the Brute. It wore the intricate armour of a War Chieftain. _How strange to see such a Brute and yet to not be fighting it,_ John thought.

"No problem. What's your name Brute?" the Spartan questioned gently, removing the Chieftain's Power Armour, which disconnected with a hiss. John winced at the damage beneath, the Brute's entire torso was mangled and bloody.

"Aeschylus," the Brute wheezed out, before doubling over in a coughing fit. John grimaced, the Brute obviously had a punctured lung. He reached down to his belt and drew out a biofoam canister, injected the thick, musty smelling foam into the Brute's chest area. Aeschylus began to breathe normally again.

"Am I to die, Demon?" Aeschylus asked, and his voice was so uncaring that John blinked, looking up into the empty eyes of the Brute.

"No, you'll be fine. I'll call a medic in a few minutes. What happened?" the Spartan asked, relieving his legs momentarily and sitting down next to Aeschylus, resting his head against the wall.

"I was commanding a lance of Jiralhanae. We were taking cover in a building when a huge Parasite came by. Collapsed the structure, and the building. Killed my pack. Only I survived." Aeschylus muttered out through newly shed tears.

"I know all too well the pain of losing a 'pack' Aeschylus." John told the Brute, thinking of all his brother and sister Spartans who had died at Reach in the attack by the Covenant. The attack the Arbiter had commanded. John liked the Elite, thought of him as a good friend, and yet had trouble forgiving him for authorising the attack which had destroyed everyone John had held dear.

"And how do you cope with the loss Demon?" Aeschylus asked bluntly, stunning John for a second. Cope? There was never a moment in his life where he didn't think about his Spartans. Except...

"You have to do things. Fight. Talk. Move on. It hurts, and will always hurt. But keeping busy is the best painkiller of all." John told the Brute wisely, and began to stand up. He didn't like how awkward the conversation had become.

"Come on, I'll take you to a group of Elites nearby, they'll get you back to base." John told the Brute, reaching down to pick Aeschylus up. 'Base' was a reinforced Tower of London, the ancient structure built back in medieval times by William the Conqueror in 1078. For centuries, it had been a place of death and misery. Ironic that now it was a place of refuge and safety.

As John's fingertips touched the Brute's though, there was a crash through the wall further down the alley, and a lone colossal Flood form stepped through. It was twice as tall as John, and spotted both him and the Brute instantly. Aeschylus baulked.

"By the Prophets, it's back!" the Brute cried out in fear, and John realised this must be the creature which levelled the building Aeschylus had been trapped under. Before the Spartan could lift up the Brute and take him to safety, the colloidal Flood form reached out and grabbed Aeschylus by the waist with one long, thick tentacle. The Brute began to scream.

"No! No! Help, by the Journey, please hel--" the Flood form doubled the thick tentacle holding the Brute over on itself, and Aeschylus's body cracked in two. The Covenant War Chieftain fell to the ground, bleeding, and very much dead.

The huge behemoth Flood form then turned its gaze upon John, who was standing still with his rifle ready. It began to advance.

"Crap." John breathed, before spraying the monster with bullets. It shrugged them off easily, still advancing slowly. The Spartan emptied magazine after magazine into the Flood form, yet to no avail. A sudden clicking noise told John that the Assault rifle was out of ammo. "Not good."

The Flood form charged then, running towards John rather quickly. John tossed the rifle aside, and looked behind him to the mouth of the alleyway. There was no other option available.

And so John ran. He fled from the insanely tall Flood form, as fast as he could. The Spartan was painfully aware that despite the fact he was running his fastest, the Flood form was still right behind him.

John tumbled out of the alleyway, into the broad street beyond. The Elites at the foot of the street cried out in shock, raising their rifles.

"Run!" John screamed at them, waving his arms frantically. He didn't stop, and continued to run down the street. John looked back and saw with horror that the Elites hadn't moved yet, instead raising their rifles bravely, wearing confident looks. _Damn their honour!_ John thought, even as the behemoth crashed likewise out onto the street, careering into the startled Elites. Plasma flew from the reptilian creatures for a few moments, before stopping as the Flood form killed them all with mirth. It then looked around the street, before spotting John once again. The Spartan swore; he'd never in all his time fought something like this.

There was no way John would be able to outrun it. No way in hell. He'd have to stand his ground and fight. The Spartan reached down to his belt, and drew out his energy sword. He spotted another discarded on the street nearby. _Two are better than one,_ John thought, lifting that hilt up and igniting it too, so he held a sword in each hand.

The huge Flood lumbered towards him, covering the vast distance in less than a few seconds. It lunged for John with one thick limb, which the Spartan easily ducked under. As the tentacle passed over his head, he brought up one blade, slicing the limb off. The Spartan chuckled with success as he backed away. Now the creature only had one tentacle left!

His victory was short-lived though, for as John watched in horror as another limb began to grow, coming out of the Flood form's body. John noticed that the torso of the creature, however, seemed to thin, as if it were transferring biomass from one area to another.

"Like a Hydra..." John muttered as he circled the enemy. The Spartan remembered the old tale of the Hydra, the mythological monster which had grown two heads for every one cut off. How had Hercules killed it again?

Before he could remember though, the huge Flood launched an attack at him, forcing John to execute a series of complex and intricate movements which would have impressed even Kelly. Speaking of which, where were his Spartans? He could use their help right now.

"This is Spartan 117, I'm engaged with a powerful enemy, can anyone assist?" John demanded over the priority channel. There was no response for a few moments, and John backed away from the advancing Flood behemoth. Then:

"Uh, Master Chief? We're a little pressed right now, we're barely holding out as it is. Is it vital you need help?" a voice John recognised as belonging to Colonel Miles inquired. John looked up at the colossal Flood creature, standing twice as tall as him; the physical embodiment of hell.

* * *

"I'll survive somehow." the Spartan replied curtly, terminating the link. John knew that if he told the Colonel what he was fighting, then scores of troops would be sent to help him. And those defending the city couldn't take the loss of those troops. John would have to find a way to best this creature himself.

The Spartan weighted one the energy swords, and tossed it, where it severed a tentacle if the behemoth. The flesh where the Flood limb had been severed was raw, and seemed to be bleeding. The sight reminded John of something he'd seen as a child.

He'd been 9 years old, out on a training exercise in a jungle on Reach. The marines they had been commanded to take out as part of the exercise were armed with stun rounds. All of them were sick bastards, they had no qualms with hurting children.

One of John's Spartans, Richard, had taken a hit on the finger, which had, to everyone's horror, flown off the hand it was attached to. The wound had been bleeding, and didn't seem to be stopping. Sam had lost the small amount of medical supplies they had been given by Mendez, and they had nothing to treat the wound with.

Kelly had come up with the idea. She had taken out a lighter, and had held the flame to the boy's raw, fleshy stump of a finger. The bleeding had stopped, and despite the pain of Richard, everyone had been able to complete the training exercise.

John blinked then, staring at the Flood limb which was already growing back. How different was it from a finger? The Spartan then remembered how Hercules had dealt with the Hydra. Whenever Hercules had cut off one of the monster's heads, he had a flame held to it. The heads had not grown back.

That was the way to deal with this Flood form. But where could he find a flame now? And where could he find one large enough to cauterise a limb as thick as the one the Flood form possessed?

The Spartan smiled. He didn't need a flame, he lived in the 26th century, with access to alien technology. Plasma would be far more efficient than fire.

Spotting an Elite corpse in the distance, John began to run towards it, vaulting over a pair of tentacles thrown in his direction. He heard the creature scream behind him, and a few seconds later a lamppost was thrown in his direction, narrowly missing him. John reached the dead Elite, and quickly searched its body. The Spartan smiled when he found what he had been seeking: a Plasma rifle, at 63% charge. Perfect. Before moving, John closed the Elite's lifeless eyes.

Now he had a means to stop this God damn creature. The Spartan turned to see the Flood behemoth lumbering towards him, cracking the street with every step it took. It screamed, before swinging at John with it's heavy, thick setted limbs.  
John skidded underneath a tentacle as it swung where his head had previously been. A few droplets of biomass dripped onto his armour.

The creature had its back exposed for a moment. John took advantage of this, and brought his energy sword down on one of the Flood form's limbs, which collapsed to the ground. This time though, instead of allowing it to regrow, John raised his taken plasma rifle and fired ten shots into the stump where the limb had once been. He crowed with success when he saw the wound sealed, and didn't regenerate.

The Flood form seemed to notice what the Spartan was doing to it, for it suddenly cried out in frustration, bringing an unexpected tentacle behind it, catching John by surprise. The limb crashed into John, draining his shields and throwing him into the window of a nearby building, caving in several bricks.

John gasped, unable to breathe. He'd never felt such pain before, never. Several of his ribs had to be cracked, and his vision was blurred. Still, the biofoam in his suit soon began to patch him up, temporarily at least. John rose...

...And charged the Flood form, determined not to lose. He never lost. The Spartan crashed with his bulk into the Flood's, sending the vile creature reeling backwards. Its disorientation was all John needed to gain control of the fight, smashing the Flood form into the ground. Before it could get back up, John seized the creature's head, as large as the Spartans body, and sliced it with his energy sword. The head toppled to the ground.

The Spartan had no idea if the Flood form could regrow such a vital body part, but wasn't willing to take any chances. He drew out his plasma rifle, and poured fire into the neck, which was now a mere stump. The wound closed, and John finished off the arduous ordeal by taking his energy sword, and plunging it into the torso of the behemoth, where it stayed fast.

Finally, it was dead. John collapsed to the ground in a pool of both his and the Flood form's blood, exhausted and mortally wounded. Would he die after all of this? It seemed too cruel. Yet it was happening. The Spartan began to lose the feeling in his limbs, and knew he would soon pass out, perhaps to never wake up. He lay in silence for what seemed like hours, knowing he faced death.

Before John entered the void though, he heard the roar of an engine behind him. He turned weakly to see a Pelican, resting on the ground. The hatch lowered.

"He's down. Blackwell, Callahan! See if you can't drag him onto this bird. Gently now. Ramirez, get your med kit ready. This might well be the most important operation of your life!" the voice sounded familiar, yet in his pain drunken stupor, John failed to place it. He was only vaguely aware when two marines grabbed him by the arms and began to drag him towards the Pelican. With grunts, the two men threw him onto the drop ship. A blurry, dark face bent over him.

"Don't worry Chief, you'll be okay." the familiar marine said, although to John it sounded like a faint whisper. He couldn't tell who was speaking, everything was so confusing. The walls of the Pelican seemed to move.

"Who--where?" John mumbled out incoherently, trying to rise. A hand pushed him back down, showing just how weak he was.

"Don't worry Chief, you're okay now. We'll patch you up, get you back onto your feet in no time. And you know I'd never butter up the truth." the voice assured John. As the Spartan's hearing came back slightly, he knew why the voice sounded familiar.

"Sergeant Johnson?" John asked weakly, coughing. Johnson chuckled.

"You know it. Your lucky we came Chief, we disobeyed a direct order coming into this hot zone for you." the Sergeant informed the Spartan, sitting down in a chair. Another marine came into view, speaking with a Spanish accent.

"Right, I'm going to patch you up as best as I can. Don't worry, I'm a trained medic. Now, you're going to pass out in a few moments, but you'll be back with us in a few--"

John's vision faded to black.


	33. Chapter 33

**Part 33 - An elegant armour from a more civillised time**

"It seems we overestimated our ability to contain this infection," Colonel Miles spoke, pacing around the room. John nodded in agreement, as did many others around the room.

"How goes the Naval battle?" an Elite Zealot asked, keeping his upper mandibles stationary. Elites tended to do that when not in combat, forming an almost human-like mouth. Miles sighed.

"Not good. Two more Flood ships have broken through, spreading to both Russia and Northern America, and some parts of Asia, and so the fact that we have effectively contained the outbreak in England is irrelevant" that wasn't good. Those two countries had been the world powers of Earth before the UNSC had formed, and still held quite a lot of influence in it.

"As for the Naval battle itself," Miles continued, running a hand across his face depressingly, "well, we're winning that. But it won't matter if all of Earth is infected,"

"We'll be able to beat them back--" Fred began to argue, but the Colonel cut him off.

"Really Spartan? Our forces, and the rest of the Elite's and the Covenant's are spread thin as it is. The Flood are encountering little resistance here. And you've fought them today. I know you have no past reference to compare them to 104, but Master Chief, have you not noticed how much more combat effective these Flood are?" Miles asked of John, who stood up, saluting.

"Sir, yes sir. These Flood are definitely more powerful and organised than the ones I have encountered previously, and I think it's safe to say I've fought more of the Flood than anyone else alive today -- except the Didact of course. I've seen some of them marching in squads, regimented even. These are definitely not the mindless zombies we've seen before. Even their appearance is more refined, smarter," John reported, and Miles nodded as he did so.

"Exactly my thoughts Master Chief. And so, if you'll all hear me out, I've come up with a plan," the Colonel walked over to a Holographic Strategic Planning Table, and gently pressed a button. A holographic version of Earth appeared, with Flood and Council ships battling it out above its orbit. John realised he was watching live footage shot from the Lunar colony.

"These are our forces so far. We're pretty much decimating the Flood above ground. However, this is what worries me," Miles pressed another button, and the image suddenly zoomed in to Northern America, showing Washington DC infested with Flood. Civilians were running, all being hunted down by the ever ravenous infection forms. It was a cataclysm. John noted with his sharp vision one infection form pounce on a screaming toddler of around three years old. He turned away from the Holo-Strat, eyes suddenly moist.

"Sir, permission to get to DC ASAP?" John questioned Miles, who shook his head.

"I understand your reason Chief, but I'll have to deny that request. Even if you clear out Washington, there are still hundreds of cities across the globe in trouble. You can't save them all," the Colonel replied, and John shook his head angrily.

"But we can still save as many as possible sir. Isn't that the job of a soldier?" the Spartan demanded angrily, moving forward, and Miles took a step back without realising.

"It is son. But I've got an idea. It's dangerous, perhaps even suicidal. But it might give us all a chance to save Earth," the Colonel explained, and John nodded curtly, sitting back down. He'd hear Miles out first.

"The reason the Flood are so powerful this time is simple; their Gravemind has grown huge, theoretically. It can command them even from here, and has evidently realised this time around that organisation is the key to success," Miles began. John nodded, waiting.

"While the Gravemind lives, there is no way we can win. Therefore, I suggest we kill it."

There was silence in the room for a few moments, before Johnson spoke up for one of the first times.

"And how are we supposed to do that? With all our forces engaged here, there's no way we can...Oh," the Sergeant Major realised what Miles was suggesting, "you're saying we abandon Earth, and go to Sangheilios,"

The Colonel grimaced, before nodding. Then he shrugged.

"We wouldn't be abandoning Earth. We'll come back, once the Gravemind is dead. But what we're doing right now is futile. Our last option is an all out offensive, strike the Flood where it will hurt most -- in its mind," Miles explained. John drew his lips tight. The plan made sense, but it felt wrong to just leave all the people on Earth to the Flood.

Then again, hadn't the UNSC done that so many times before in the war with the Covenant? When a battle had looked hopeless, they'd pulled out, leaving millions behind as the planet in question was glassed. Was this so different?

It was, John realised. For this time, the people of Earth wouldn't merely be dying. They would be infected by the Flood, doomed to live a pitied existence; self aware yet unable to control their bodies. No chance at whatever afterlife religions promised. No release from life's turmoils. Just pain, and a sense of helplessness.

"How soon would we leave?" John asked, his conscience giving in to common sense.

"As soon as possible. Maybe within a few hours. I've already spoken with Lord Harper, Imperial Admiral R'tas, and the two Covenant Hierarchs. They are all in agreement with me," Miles revealed, and John smiled dryly as he gathered that what the Colonel had been saying had never been a suggestion, it was concrete. He had just wanted their opinion.

_We're not abandoning them. We're coming back._

Yet no matter how many times John repeated that in his mind, he couldn't help but feel like he was just leaving Earth to fend for itself.

* * * * * * *  
"Arbiter!" a voice cried. That of a Prophet's. Equanimity. Fighting the urge to scowl, Thel turned around slowly.

"Yes, Hierarch?" Thel questioned of the frail Prophet, who smiled, gesturing for Thel to come to his side.

"Come Arbiter, walk with me a while," Equanimity implored, and Thel grimaced, searching for an excuse.

"Oh, I should be ah...assisting preparing for the upcoming offensive," Thel blurted out, referring to the attack on Sangheilios, which would begin in a few hours. As soon as the fleets emerged out of slipspace. Equanmity's brow rose.

"Truly Arbiter? Only that, your construct friend tells me you have been doing nought but lounging in your chair for at least a few units," the Prophet had won the battle it became clear, and so Thel sighed, moving to follow him. As he exited his ship and stepped out into _Placid Enrichment_, he narrowed his eyes at Cortana. She merely laughed softly.

Equanimity turned down a hall Thel had previously not been down before; with high rising statues and tablets depicting moments of Covenant history. The Prophet then spoke.

"Tell me Arbiter, know you the history of your title?" Equanimity queried, catching Thel off guard for a moment. Was this some test of his intelligence? The Sangheili chose his words carefully.

"How could I not, being who I am? I understand my legacy," Thel said slowly, and Equanimity nodded gravely.

"As is to be expected. You know then why the rank of Arbiter became a mark of shame?"

_Do I?_ Thel had only read scraps of information regarding that subject, and suspected they were all tainted with the Covenant's lies.

"Not precisely, but I hope I, through my actions, have made it a mark of honour once more," Thel commented wryly, hoping to draw the subject away from his ignorance. The Prophet smiled.

"That you have noble Vadam'ee, that you have."

Thel didn't have the energy to explain to yet another Covenant Loyalist that the Sangheili no longer used the 'ee' suffix after their family name. He merely waited for Equanimity to carry on speaking as they turned around another corner. Thel blinked in surprise as he viewed the large mural shown across the ceiling.

In it was a large mosaic of an Arbiter garbed in golden armour, blade sunk deep into a foe's flesh. The foe wore the ancient, cumbersome armour commonly found back when Sangheilios was its own government, before the Covenant totally took over.

"What is this place?" Thel breathed, wondering why he had never heard of such a hallway before. Across all the walls were countless tablets displaying Arbiters; some tall, some small. None wearing the same golden armour depicted on the large mural above.

"The Hall of The Arbiter. None outside the Guardians of this Holy City know of it. It is akin to the Mausoleum that was on High Charity, although it is a little more brutal, and truthful."

That it was. There were images of Prophets ordering Arbiters successful in a mission where they were intended to die to death; images of an Arbiter's own forces turning upon him. This was a far darker side of the history Thel knew.

"This is indeed interesting Hierarch, but why are you showing me?" Thel demanded of the Prophet, who grinned.

"See you the Arbiter depicted on the ceiling, Vadam'ee?" Equanimity questioned. The Sangheili nodded.

"Yes. It is Fal, is it not?"

"Quite so. The 5th Arbiter, and the last appointed by the Sangheilios Council. His title branded forever by his heresy," the Prophet explained further, and Thel nodded slowly.

"I know only too well that I wear a heretic's armour," the Sangheili said.

"No. You do not," Equanimity suddenly barked. Thel frowned, speechless for a moment. He stared at the Prophet for a moment.

"What are you talking about Prophet?" Thel demanded aggressively, faintly proud of the fact he was speaking to a Prophet on such equal terms. Not too long ago, he would have said nothing, hoping that the Prophet would explain on his own accord.

"You don't see the colour of Fal's armour?" Equanimity asked. Thel nodded.

"Yes, golden. That is just the artist's representation, to show he was once golden and pure before delving into heresy," Thel laughed back, marvelling and Equanimity's ignorance. _What a fool!_

Worryingly, the Prophet laughed just as hard, shaking his head.

"No Vadam'ee, that is just what the Covenant wanted you to believe. No doubt Truth told you that your armour is the same that every Arbiter wore?"

Slowly, Thel nodded his head.

"He lied, which is hardly a surprise. Your armour was created as soon as Truth decided you were to become the Arbiter. It is neither ancient nor especially significant. Just an inefficient armour system using old technology, designed so to hurry you to death."

Thel blinked, and then held up his gauntleted hands before his eyes. Surely this couldn't be true? Then, why would Equanimity have any reason to lie?

"That is a slightly disturbing and upsetting revelation Prophet, but still, was there any reason in your telling me?" Thel questioned, unable to keep the hurt from his voice. Did Equanimity still hate him so that he wished to upset him?

"Of course there was. Fal's armour was incredible, and far more advanced than the rubbish they churn out in factories nowadays. With impeccable shielding, performance enhancing technologies not unlike the ones reputed to be within Spartan armour, and the metal it is made of is far stronger than what you currently use. Even the highest Zealot would be envious of such a piece."

"How do you know this?" Thel queried the Prophet, who, finally coming to a large door at the end of the Hall of The Arbiter, opened it with the touch of a button.

"Because it resides inside this room."

Thel gasped as he beheld what was inside the chamber. It was devoid of furniture and other such normal things; all that was inside was a large, glass storage casket. Within its clear surface gleamed the brightest of armours, golden and splendid. Its appearance was not unlike Thel's armour, yet it was more regal, and had evidently been designed in the old ages, back before the Prophets first encountered the Sangheili. His feet moving by themselves, Thel walked up and lightly touched the casket, feeling a tingle run down his spine as he did so.

"Believe me now Vadam'ee?" Thel turned around to see Equanimity sitting in his chair, a smile on his wizened face.

"Yes...it's beautiful," Thel replied softly, unable to wrench his eyes from the golden armour which had once belonged to the legendary Fal.

"Quite so. And I wish for you to have it."

Those words shocked Thel out of his stupor, and he whirled around, wearing a sceptical look. Equanimity's sincere expression did not waver.

"Truly?" Thel asked, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"Truly. Consider it a gift, perhaps it will go some way to patching the rift between our two factions," Equanimity pressed, and Thel pursed his mandibles.

"The Elites will not rejoin the Covenant. I tell you so as to eliminate any false hope you have," the Sangheili informed the Prophet, who nodded instantly.

"Of course, and I do not expect you to. Yet I hope both you and we can, at the least, have a civil relationship."

Thel smiled warmly.

"You helped my people when we needed help most. No gift was needed to assure our friendship."

Equanimity looked at Thel as if he were bathed in a new light.

"Still, take it. You certainly hold the strongest claim."

The Prophet pressed a button, and silently the casket swung open. Thel looked inquisitively at Equanimity, who nodded approvingly. Slowly, the Sangheili reached for the armour. Each piece was linked by a soft, yet impossibly hard chain. Forerunner glyphs marked the sides.

"This is indeed a wonderful gift," Thel breathed, running an affectionate hand across the helmet. Fal's armour made his own seem like it had been designed for Unggoy.

"Go, try it on. And wear it with pride."

Thel blinked. Obviously, armour was intended to be worn, but this seemed far too precious to be subject to the conditions of battle. Still, there was no reason to keep it locked up in a time of great need, and so Thel slowly shed the Arbiter armour Truth had given him nearly a year ago. It tumbled to the ground with a clang, and with that, Thel felt a kind of relief. His last tie to a life of lies was finally gone.

With shaking hands, Thel placed the helmet over his elongated head. It fit like a charm, and slowly he clicked his mandibles across the mouth guard. Perfect.

As the Sangheili secured the final piece of armour across his body, the whole set lit up with a blue, evanescent glow. To Thel's extreme surprise, blue lines akin to the ones found in Forerunner relics began to run across his arms, imbuing his whole being with strength. The Sangheili felt many more times stronger than he previously had.

"What is this?" Thel wondered, staring at the now alien looking arms attached to his torso. They were still his, but felt like they belonged to someone more divine.

"I have no idea. You are the first I have seen wear this armour. But it's probably something beneficial, I wager. In any case, it looks splendid on you. And you shall have a chance to test it in battle soon, noble Vadam'ee," Equanimity replied to Thel, who nodded slowly. The Sangheili clenched his fist, noting a spark of blue power spark across it as he did so.

"What should I do with this?" Thel asked the Prophet, indicating his old armour which now lay discarded in a heap.

"It is your choice, Arbiter."

Thel thought for a few moments, before coming to a decision. He reached down with intent to lift up the heavy armour. To his surprise, it felt far lighter than it had a few minutes ago, so much so that Thel nearly pulled a muscle from moving his limbs so fast.

_Fal's armour really_ does _make you stronger_, Thel mused to himself. _No, not Fal's armour,_ my _armour._

"This is fantastic Equanimity, truly a marvellous gift for you to bestow. Is there any way I can repay you?"

The Prophet chuckled, shaking his head.

"Nay Vadam'ee, you have already done far too much. All I ask is that you fight your hardest in the upcoming battle."

Thel detached Saran's Violet Energy blade from his old armour, feeling a pang of loss as he remembered his advisory friend back on Sangheilios, who was now most likely infected. The Sangheili checked the sword, activating it. To his surprise, blue sparks from his arms ran even further, extending through the plasma of the blade.

"That request I can fulfil friend."


	34. Chapter 34

**Part 34 - Breach and clear**

"You know Harper, I could help pilot a ship. I'm very good at it actually. What do you say?"

"Fat chance Eden. Keep whining, and I'll send you out on the frontlines," Harper replied. Eden gasped from inside his cell.

"You wouldn't! I don't know a thing about using a rifle!" the disgraced leader pined, his face ashen. Fleet Admiral Harper smirked.

"Rifle? You overestimate my generosity, you'd be lucky if I gave you a M6D."

"When I get out of here Harper, I'm telling you, you will pay," Eden threatened, expression dark and livid. John smiled at the scene as he walked by, checking his weapon. The Spartan glanced at the imprisoned man, narrowing his eyes. Instantly, Eden lost his haughty composure, and scurried into a dark corner of his cell.

"You all set Chief?" Harper had turned in John's direction, his look inquisitive.

"Affirmative."

"Just stick to the plan son, and we'll all get out of this just fine."

John certainly hoped so. Doctor Halsey had come up with a good strategy, which had been refined and tweaked by warfare experts. John was to take command of a small task force, comprised of he, his Spartans, the Arbiter and a few Elites, and two Brute Stalker Commandos. Whilst the main forces would be attacking, they would cut through to the centre of the Flood, where the Gravemind resided underneath the Citadel of Vadam. John would then inject Mendicant Bias, and the virus he held stored into the central hive of the Flood, wiping it out once and for all. Cut off from their main intelligence, the Flood would be confused, making them easy pickings for the soldiers above ground.

That was the plan anyway. But John knew that what was drawn on paper rarely executed exactly out on the field.

He met the rest of his task force inside the hanger of the _Soul of Ice._ Fred, Kelly and Linda were stood in a corner, checking their weapons and equipment. The Arbiter in his new, gleaming armour stood with another Elite, a Special Operations Commando who John faintly recognised from the battle at the Ark. And stood off to one side, looking sullen and not a little imposing were the duo Brute Stalkers, helmets affixed. How a Brute could be stealthy was beyond the Chief, but somehow the Stalkers managed it.

"We good to go sir?" Linda asked, jamming a third sniper rifle into her pod. John even spotted a Covenant beam rifle in there. He nodded.

"As soon as the green light goes. Everyone ready?"

There were nods from the task force, as they clambered into their assorted pods. The Arbiter came up next to John; he was to be his 'buddy' in the upcoming fight.

"This fight shall be an arduous one Spartan," the Golden Elite said. John nodded slowly, before holding his hand out.

"One we might not survive. I'd just like to say you've been a good soldier to fight alongside Thel...and a friend."

The corners of the Arbiter's mouth curled upwards, and John's hand was soon engulfed by the bony, almost skeletal hand of the Elite.

"And you I. Now come, let us enter our pods."

The Spartan turned away from the Elite, opening the hatch on his SOEV. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the luminous eye of Mendicant Bias staring at him expectantly from within.

"Ah, finally you have decided to grace me with your presence Reclaimer. Do climb in, I believe there is adequate room for both of us," the Forerunner AI implored, and, awkwardly, John managed to fit himself inside the pod, with Mendicant resting on his lap. The hatch of the SOEV swung close with a finale thud.

"Are you sure you want to do this? Die, I mean?" John asked gravely to the Monitor, who blipped twice in affirmation.

"I have lived for over one hundred thousand years John, all of them leading up to this moment. I have scene civilisations rise, and fall; empires conquered, only for a new one to be born from its ashes. I am ready to die, if you can call it that," Mendicant answered with a blunt brutality that John understood. The Monitor had lived most of its existence in perpetual guilt for its betrayal of the Forerunners. This final act was almost like an atonement for him.

"You'll be forever remembered, with gratitude this time, not with hatred," John told the AI, who chuckled.

"And it warms my metaphorical heart to hear that John, truly it does."

Before the Spartan could reply, the green light in the drop bay began to flash, and a moment later John was swivelling around as the HEV prepared to drop. John felt Mendicant Bias squirm ever so slightly.

"Are you quite positive this is safe?" he asked, and John smiled within his MJOLNIR Mark 7 helmet.

"It's safe. Well, most of the time."

"_Most_ of the--?"

The AI was cut off as the launch timer began to bleep, scaring him into silence. John was surprised to learn Mendicant could be afraid. Perhaps he kept his emotional algorithms active to make him feel more...alive.

"Hold on," John warned the Monitor, who looked up at him with what the Spartan assumed to be an incredulous expression.

"Hold on with what?" Mendicant demanded, and John grimaced as he realised that the AI's concern was valid; he had no limbs. Only a spherical chassis and holographic golden blades which extended in different directions from the body, sinking through the floor of the pod.

"Point taken. Activate your shields, trust me, you need to," the Master Chief advised, and a few moments later the AI had erected a golden barrier around him, an inch or two thick.

"Very well, but why?"

As Mendicant finished that sentence, the HEV as well as the others in the group immediately disengaged from the Destroyer, and soon the small pod was in free-fall, fast approaching the tainted atmosphere of Sangheilios below. John heard a shriek as Mendicant found himself slammed into the ceiling of the HEV, his hastily thrown up shields protecting his body from damage.

"Precursors above!" the AI gasped as before his artificial eye, the sky flew by outside of the bullet proof window of the pod.

"You okay?" John shouted out; his armour luckily kept the high speeds and pressure of the fall from affecting his speech. Mutely, the Monitor gave a small bleep of confirmation.

Happy that the most important asset of the upcoming mission was safe, John forced himself to stare out of the window as the pods broke through the visibly brown atmosphere.

What he saw caused dread to rise in his gut. The surface of Sangheilios had been completely and utterly decimated, no life of vegetation save Flood infected biomass could be seen below. One of the flying Flood swarms came inches within the HEV, causing the metal pod to sway slightly.

_How on Earth are we supposed to defeat this?_

The battle below had already begun, the diversionary one intended to give the task force John led the time it needed to defeat the Gravemind. In the smoke and unnatural fog below, it was nearly impossible to see who was winning. Marines and the Covenant Separatists and Loyalists were being tossed, lifeless, out of the fray, but an equal amount of Flood forms fell too, stumbling out of battle as bleeding husks.

The Arbiters voice echoed in John's ear.

"In all my years, I never thought the domain I once ruled would succumb to such a terrible fate." the Elite's voice was soft, and sombre.

"Worry not friend, the parasite shall pay dearly for this decadence!" another voice answered, surprising John as he realised it belonged to one of the Brute Stalkers in the task force; Commander Icarus. Brutes consoling Elites? Much had changed since the Flood threat had arisen.

As the floor of John's HEV began to grow hot, the Spartan hit a button, activating the rotary blades on top. These spun for a few seconds, slowing the pod down considerably, before disengaging and allowing the HEV to fall many more metres by its own accord.

With a slightly painful jolt, the pod smashed into the dead ground, wedging itself firmly within the lifeless soil. The task force had landed on the opposite side of the main conflict, at the back door of Vadam's Citadel.

John kicked the door open, grabbing his weapons as he did so. He'd chosen an MA5C, and one of the newer experimental UNSC weapons, which somehow fused human bullet technology with the advanced Covenant plasma technology. The bullet fired would generate a miniscule magnetic field around it, attracting plasma whilst preventing it from melting the projectile. The plasma coated bullet would then smash into the enemy, doing twice the damage a bullet by itself would do, and dealing twice as much penetration as plasma would on its own. The weapon had been named the Symbiosis, due to it being the first weapon collaborated between the United Galactic Council. Mendicant Bias floated behind him, still seeming a little shaken by the drop.

It killed things, and that's all John really cared about. He looked around as one by one, the rest of the task force exited their own pods, coming to look at what had once been the majestic Citadel of Vadam.

Now it could only be described as a monstrosity; Flood biomass covered the entirety of the tall structure, giving it the semblance of being alive. John felt a golden plated shoulder brush his, shaking. He turned to see the Arbiter, ashen faced and wide eyed.

"I once lived here, for many a year. To see what has become of it now is greatly upsetting."

"Well nothing will be here soon, once we've blown the hell of this cesspit," Fred remarked, coming up with his shotgun. Thel's lower mandibles began to tremble, and John sent Fred an angry look, annoyed that the Spartan could be so cold.

"It's for the best," John stated, unable to think of anything better to say. "Kelly, Linda, assemble the charge."

The two female Spartans began to assemble the two separate sections of the breaching charge, which had been divided so it could travel in orbit within two pods. Eventually, the bomb was ready.

The Brutes then made use of their raw strength, hefting the heavy bomb between them. Kelly and Linda could have handled it easily, but it was heartening to see the Stalkers wished to help. They set the charge by the huge back door of the Citadel, moving back nervously as a large tentacle growing out of the door began to swing, as if it were sensing the air before it.

John took a look at the task force behind him, all of them brave and capable soldiers. He walked up to the large bomb, hand resting just above the button which, when pressed, would cave in the door with an explosion a few seconds after being armed.

"Everyone green?"

Seven green lights winked within John's helmet, prompting a small smile from him. ONI had upgraded the Elite and Brute armour systems (or at least the systems of those in the task force) with status indicators shortly before drop, which would make for easier communication between the group.

"Then let's do this."

John armed the breaching charge.


	35. Chapter 35

_Disclaimer: Any religious insinuations made in this chapter are there purely in the context of the story, and are not intended to cause offence or general sadface-ness._

**Part 35 - Buying time**

"We're gonna hold up in here for now!" Sergeant Johnson shouted to the soldiers he'd rounded up. Another marine -- a total greenhorn by the look of it, three Grunts, a Jackal and an Engineer. Not the most efficient fighting force.

The group had taken refuge within a small house inside the city. The human, Covenant and Separatist forces had long since breached the tall gates leading into the Flood occupied city. In the distance loomed the Citadel, where the Chief and his task force were hopefully battling in now.

Johnson looked down at the young marine rocking back and forth in the corner. He bent down by the man.

"My arms! I've lost my arms!" the marine screeched, a wild look in his eyes. Alarmed, Johnson glanced at the private. All his limbs seemed to be there.

"Private, pull yourself together! You've got two perfectly good arms just like everyone else," Johnson stole a look at the Engineer with its many tentacles hanging. "Well, like most of us anyway."

The marine grabbed Johnson's shoulders with his hands, squeezing tight. The young man wore a crazed look as he stared into the Sergeant's eyes.

"We need to go back. We need to go fetch them!" Tears were running down the private's face.

Johnson growled in annoyance, firmly grasping the marine's wrists and manipulating his arms so they were before his eyes.

"Your arms are right _here_ marine!"

The man broke out into a relieved grin, laughing.

"My arms! You found them Sarge! You found my arms!" The marine then began to laugh maniacally, before reverting back to his rocking, the same crazed look in his eyes.

_Well he ain't gonna be much use in a firefight,_" Johnson thought to himself in despair, moving away from the traumatised private. He bent down next to the Grunts so was at their level.

"Who's the highest rank out of you three?" Johnson demanded, lighting a cigar as he spoke. The methane breathing aliens moved slightly away from the lighter flame.

"M-me noble one," a silver armoured Grunt chirped nervously.

"Noble one? Ain't nothing noble about me I assure you. What's your name?" the Sergeant asked in a kinder tone, not wanting to further scare the already terrified Grunts.

"Garag sir!" the silver alien gave a salute with its stumpy arm. Johnson nodded.

"Garag, I want you to take your two soldiers, and watch the entrances to the building. Take the Engineer with you and set up some defences with it," he ordered, pointing down the corridor where doors and windows led to the Flood occupied outside. Garag nodded firmly, beckoning for the two other Grunts to follow him, and emitting a high pitched whistle which seemed to attract the absent mind Engineer's attention.

Johnson then turned to the Jackal, who was staring at him with its large, buggy eyes.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" he asked the Jackal, who nodded before emitting an unfathomable bark.

"Yeah, well I have no idea what you're squawking about. Good thing you ain't the CO. Jackal, head up the stairs with me. We're gonna be sniping, and providing our forces in the city with covering fire. Think you can do that?"

The Jackal cocked its head for a moment, before nodding confidently, grasping the beam rifle it held tightly. Johnson prised the sniper rifle from the magnetic clips on his back, unfolding the weapon. He began loading clips into the rifle as he walked towards the stairs.

"Let's have a little contest of sorts eh? I reckon I can kill more Flood than you, despite the fact you've got that fancy rifle," Johnson boasted to the Jackal, who shook its head, cackling. It then went ahead of Johnson up the flight of stairs.

"Hey, wait up, cheating bastard! And killing infection forms doesn't count!"

* * * * * * * * *

"The last time I was in one of these control rooms, I wiped out every living organism in the Galaxy," the Didact breathed, staring down at the control pad through tears. Tom and Lucy glanced at each other uneasily. What the hell were you supposed to say to something like that?

"Well, obviously not everything. Humanity's here, and so's the Covenant. And there are probably dozens of other intelligent species throughout the Milky Way," Tom offered, in an attempt to cheer the Forerunner up.

"Dozens? There used to be hundreds. We only saved a small percentage of them. I have the blood of trillions on my hands. I don't know if I can do it again if the order comes."

The control room of Sigma Halo possessed an almost serene beauty to it. Incredible to believe that such a tranquil place could destroy everything.

"I have seen no evidence of this infection outbreak. Are you quite certain Creator? I know that at Installation 07 at least, containment protocols have been carried out to the bone."

Tom scowled at the Monitor of the seventh Halo ring. 049 Melancholy Prejudice. It possessed an air of aloofness about it, as if it believed it were better than everything else.

"'Containment'. Precursors above, we were such fools to keep Flood specimens alive. Why did we do it?"

Melancholy Prejudice was more than happy to supply an answer to the rhetorical question.

"It was decided by the Conclave that certain Flood forms would be kept in stasis at the Halo rings for further study. This was due to the fact that the Flood is known to be extra-galactic, and so the ones in this Galaxy could be a small portion of the greater whole. Research into the infection was needed so perhaps a possible cure could be--"

"I know why the Conclave made the decision! I just wish they hadn't. Halo was designed to stop the Flood. But look what happened. My people are gone, and the Flood remain," the Didact sighed once again.

Silence remained in the control room, with Tom awkwardly looking down at the floor. Lucy had gone into one of her trances -- her face was a blank mask devoid of any emotion or thought. The post traumatic stress from Pegasi Delta had been rough on her. And it can't have helped that every single Spartan III fighting alongside her and Tom had died.

"It wasn't always like this you know," the Forerunner suddenly spoke, a reminiscing look about him. "Before the Flood first surfaced on G617, the Forerunner empire spanned across the entire Galaxy."

"G617?" Tom suddenly questioned.

"Yes, a planet on the outer rim. Not the best of names I agree."

"That's odd. G617. Genesis 6:17 -- 'And, behold, I, even I, do bring a flood of waters upon the earth, to destroy all flesh, wherein is the breath of life, from under heaven; and every thing that is in the earth shall die. '" Tom quoted.

"Where did you get that passage from?" the Didact demanded, clearly bemused. Tom frowned.

"The Bible. A holy book from one of humanity's larger religions. Pretty fitting," the Spartan III told the Forerunner.

"Very fitting. A flood unleashed upon the 'Earth', to destroy all flesh. I doubt that's a coincidence, the person who wrote your Bible must have come across a Forerunner terminal documenting first contact with the Flood," the Didact looked thoughtful. Tom laughed.

"Best keep that information to yourself Forerunner. You'll create a religious breakdown if you talk about things like that."

"In my experience, religion brings nothing but trouble. We followed the Mantle to the bone when dealing with the Flood outbreak, but we didn't act fast enough. And the Mantle prevented us from taking any action which could have saved us. By the time the Conclave -- our leaders, of which I was the head -- decided that the Mantle be damned, it was too late. We had been backed into a corner by the Flood. We had no choice but to activate Halo."

"You did what you had to. And what you might have to do again," Tom told the Didact, who shook his head.  
"I don't think I'll be able to. Not again. If the time comes, _you_ will have to fire the array."

Tom felt a little uneasy about that, and didn't trust himself to face the Forerunner.

"Yeah, well, hopefully it won't come to that."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The plasma arc sailed through the vacuum of space, smashing with silence into the shield-less hull of a battered UNSC ship. Small flurries of flame began to cascade along the Halcyon Class Cruiser, before the vessel exploded in a flurry of light.

R'tas clenched his fist in anger.

"Destroy the parasite scow that did that," he breathed, leering out at the scene before him. The ships of the UNSC, Covenant and Separatist Elites were lined up, facing the seemingly infinite wave of the Flood flotilla.

The human AI assigned to help pilot the _Shadow of Intent_ complied with the spoken command, firing the Assault Carrier's multiple pulse-laser turrets, which flew through the space between the two fleets at the speed of light, tearing through the offending ship's shields. A MAC shot fired by a human ship in the armada followed, tearing a deadly hole through the heat of the Cruiser. Flood forms on board the ship were sucked out of the vessel, before their lungs burst and they floated limp in space.

"A solid kill sir," the AI, named Maria, reported. R'tas grinned.

"Bring the _Intent_ further up the line, nearer to the human ships. Our shields are strong, and the humans' are not. We shall bare the brunt of the Flood attack on them."

The Assault Carrier veered sharply to the left, pulling a manoeuvre which would shear a lesser ship clean in half. The _Shadow of Intent_ moved near the faltering UNSC fleet, essentially acting as a giant decoy. The Flood ships targeting the humans instantly responded to this new threat, and soon enough waves of plasma and lasers rippled across the sturdy shields of the Elite flagship.

"Thanks for the decoy Imperial Admiral," the fleetcom voice belonged to relieved Fleet Admiral Harper. "All UNSC ships, push forward and fire on my command!"

R'tas watched as the human ships sailed closer to the Flood vessels, where they would be more effective. The Parasite seemed intent on depleting the _Shadow of Intent_'s shields however, not noticing the human fleet stealing along their blind side.

_The Flood are wasting their time anyway,_ R'tas thought smugly as he stared down at the shield reservoir indicator. The barrier still held at a steady 62%, even after three continuous minutes of concentrated Flood fire.

One of the Flood frigates finally seemed to notice the UNSC ships, but it was too late.

"Fire!" Harper commanded.

Before the frigate's fellows could turn, the humans opened near-point blank fire on the Flood from only a few miles away. The frigate, and in turn the rest of the small flotilla attacking the humans was wiped out in a blazing fire of ARCHER missiles and MAC rounds.

"A worthy blow human," R'tas congratulated the Fleet Admiral. Harper's voice still sounded grim though.

"Merely a thorn in the Flood's side Vadum'. They still have nearly five hundred ships. We have just over half that number, including the Brutes and your ships. We won't be able to hold out much longer -- a few hours at the most."

R'tas nodded understandably, but reminded Harper of the role the fleets were playing in this.

"We are but a distraction Admiral. As you and I both know, the real battle wages on Sangheilios' surface."

Harper sighed over the fleetcom.

"Everything rests on the Chief and his task force. If they fail, we all--"

The voice suddenly went dead. Concerned, R'tas stared out at Harper's ship, the _Soul of Ice._ Blue fire played across the surface of the Destroyer, and its shields had faded. It did not take long for R'tas to find the source of the attack.

Ten Flood ships had just materialised from an active camouflage, launching an all-out attack on the UNSC flagship. They must have diverted all their power to their weapon systems, for when R'tas gave the sharp order, the blasts thrown at the ships tore through them with ease, not encountering any shielding.

_Ten ships sacrificed to take out one. This battle is like a gigantic game of Chess,_ R'tas thought to himself, scrabbling for the intercom.

"Soul of Ice. Soul of Ice, do you read?" he demanded, receiving nothing but static.  
Then a wheezy coughing sounded from the other end of the line.

"This is Harper. God damn it, what the hell was that?" the human Admiral sounded weak.

"Flood surprise attack. We dealt with them, but not before they landed your flagship a crushing blow. What's your status?"

There was silence for a few moments.

"Bad," Harper finally reported. "Engine Maintenance isn't responding, and half the bridge's been torn away. Life support is down."

"Hold on, I'm sending a volley of shuttles to evacuate you."

"Negative Imperial Admiral, this bird could explode at any moment. The fusion core seems to be damaged. We'll hold out as best as we can, those who are able to will head to the life boats."

"Can you reach a life boat?" R'tas demanded nervously.

"I'm afraid not. The Bridge blast doors have sealed, and outside them there's nothing but cold space. Keep fighting, we've got enough oxygen to last a little over an hour."

"And if the fusion core of your ship goes critical?"

Harper paused.

"Then it's been an honour serving with you R'tas. Harper out."

* * * * * * * *

Phillip Eden crawled out of his demolished cell, coughing. Flames flickered around him, the searing heat threatening to end his newly freed life.

A small magnum lay a few feet outside the cell, and Eden picked it up, checking the chamber. Nice and full.

He braced his arms against the wall for a few moments, regaining the orientation he had lost when all nine circles of hell had smashed into the _Soul of Ice._

Eden then heard the automated message playing out of a speaker in the detention corridor wall's corner.

"_Shields are down. Engine not responding. Life support failed. Fusion Core at near critical levels. Crew members are advised to evacuate to the nearest life boat immediately."_

The message then repeated in several different commonly spoke languages. Eden understood all of them.

_I need to get the hell off this boat,_ Eden thought determinedly, staggering on unstable legs to the bottom of a stair case. He stared up at the neon sign embedded into the detention block wall.

_LIFE BOAT STATIONS ON UPPER FLOOR._

The capitalised words cut through Eden's shell shocked mind, and he began to clamber up the staircase with a dogged sense of direction. He reached the top, and saw crew members running around frantically. A rough look marine seemed to be trying to impose order on the evacuation effort.

"Please everyone, walk in an orderly fashion, single line. There are enough life boats for every body."

Waiting until the marine was facing the other way, Eden ducked into the writhing crowd, blending in perfectly. He shoulder barged his way past the masses. As it became clear that a particularly dense bunch of people would not budge, Eden drew out his magnum and fired it skywards. The actual bullet tumbled to the ground harmlessly as it hit the tough ship ceiling, but the crack of noise produced by the weapon drew the attention of the crowd, who scurried out of the way with a startled cry.

Eden sidled along the narrow pathway that thus formed, soon reaching the front of the queue forming to get into the lifeboats.

As he attempted to climb inside an empty one, Eden felt a hand grasp his shoulder, and pull him backwards.

"You will wait to be assigned into a group before boarding a lifeboat," the marine instructed firmly, throwing Eden roughly into a few crew members.

_A near critical fusion core doesn't give me the luxury of time,_ Eden decided, bringing his pistol up and pointing it at the marine. As if warned by a sixth sense, the marine looked up from his clipboard to see the barrel of the gun aiming at his heart. Before he could even attempt to move away, Eden's finger closed around the trigger, and the marine fell to the ground.

A new wave of screaming broke out as the crew members behind Eden stared at him in horror. Choosing at random, he grabbed a small woman from the crowd and wrapped an arm around her neck, pointing his pistol at her temple.

"Drop your weapons!" Eden bellowed at the marines who had responded to the gun shot. The soldiers had Assault Rifles aimed at Eden, and looked hesitant to lower them.

"Drop them!" Eden shrieked, driving the gun he held harder into the side of the woman's head. She began to sob pitifully, and this was the trigger that made the marines finally throw their weapons on the ground.

Without even taking the time to say a final, sarcastic remark, Eden back into the lifeboat with his hostage, and hit a button. The door began to seal. Before it did so fully, Eden kicked his hostage out of the lifeboat, and she tumbled to the floor outside. The marines instantly dove for their weapons, aiming them at Eden, but by then the bullet proof doors had all but fully sealed, and the 7.62mm rounds bounced uselessly off the lifeboat pod.

"Sorry chaps, but I ride solo," Eden whispered as he turned to activate the lifeboat controls. He'd take firmer control of the pod later -- right now all he needed to do was put a mile or so between him and the _Soul of Ice._

He slammed a fist into the disengage button, and the lifeboat broke away from the Destroyer class ship, sailing out into the expansive reaches of space.

Eden managed to reach a safe distance just before the _Soul of Ice_'s fusion core went critical, and the flagship of the UNSC fleet shattered in a gargantuan explosion.


	36. Chapter 36

**Part 36 - Return to the homestead**

"Hold fast. I hear movement within," Relg cautioned his friend with an emphasised movement of the hand. Malkor grounded to a halt.

The two Light of Helios had scaled the wall of Vadam city in the midst of conflict, trying to keep from getting into a fight. The weapons the two Sangheili had with them were ceremonial for the most part, and Relg didn't trust them to see him through a firefight.

The decision to leave the cave that had for so long been their home had been an easy one. The fighting in and around the city which encompassed the Citadel was more than just an attempt at liberation. It was a final stand. If Relg and Malkor chose not to participate, there would soon be no army to fight on the same side as.

Still, before they could do anything, they'd need weapons. Real weapons.

"The parasite is inside your home?" Malkor questioned, which prompted a frown from Relg.

"Looks to be so brother. Fear not, they will not have found the means to enter the vault. Our weapons are safe, for now."

"What's the plan?"

Relg pondered on the query for a moment, before coming to a final, blunt decision.

"We breach the doors. Take the Flood by surprise. Fall on them before they know what has happened."

Malkor grinned, drawing out his energy cutlass.

"Simple, yet brutal. I like it."

* * * * * * * * *

_The bastards have sent the navy on a suicide mission._ My _navy!_, Eden realised as he stared out at the battle before him. The amount of Flood ships dwarfed that of the UNSC, Elite and Covenant ships.

_No doubt this was the aliens' plan. They intend for humanity to die on the frontier, so they can take control of Earth when the battle is over. Well it won't happen. Not over my dead body._

Eden glanced around his shuttle, easing himself into the controls. The wreckage of the _Soul of Ice_ still burned, although the fires were fast extinguishing in the vacuum of space. Eden felt a little bad for all the lives that had been lost on the flagship, but knew that a few lives had to be sacrificed so that countless more could be saved.

Quietly, the former Lord Admiral of the United Nations Space Command formed a plan. In fleets like these, there was always a master ship. Eden knew it was so, the _Soul of Ice_ had been it until a few moments ago. With the ship destroyed, total command would pass to the ship of the next officer in precedence of rank.

If he could gain control of that ship, then Eden would be able to access the AIs of all the UNSC fleet using an extremely long code he had long since memorised. He'd pull the human ships back, and let the Flood focus their fire on the alien bigots. No doubt many of them would perish, but that didn't matter to Eden one bit -- no doubt they had their merits but at the end of the day, they simply weren't human.

Then, once the Flood had been weakened up a bit by the Elites and Covenant, humanity would fly in and wipe the zombie bastards out. After that, the aliens wouldn't have the military power to resist a human dictatorship. Finally, the UNSC would get revenge for the war. The Covenant could be forced to work on planets they had so happily glassed, reviving them.

Maybe Eden would make the Engineers equals amongst humanity. They'd been slaves of the Covenant for far too long, and hadn't fought either. No doubt they'd yearn for a flip of the tables too.

A perfect plan indeed. But first it needed to be executed.

_Now, which officer would fleet control have passed to with Harper's death?_ Eden pondered, methodically thinking through a list of officers. Many Admirals had been killed in the previous battle where Eden had been toppled by the usurper Harper and...

_Of course, that's who control would have passed to. Captain Graham Daniels._

* * * * * * ** *

"Sergeant...human sir?" the voice of a frightened Grunt carried up the tall staircase. Johnson groaned.

_Sergeant human?_ Had the small alien really forgotten his name in the space of less than an hour? Idiot.

Johnson turned to the Jackal he had been sniping with.

"Keep laying down some covering fire. Oh, and kills you make while I'm gone do _not_ count."

The harsh bark that the Jackal replied with conveyed the alien marksman's meaning perfectly to Johnson.

"Yeah? Well right back at you," he growled at the Jackal, before popping an unlit cigar in his mouth and traipsing wearily down the very grandiose staircase.

He emerged in the lower rooms to see a cluster of Grunts cowering behind a sofa, including Garag, whom Johnson had placed in charge. The Sergeant gritted his teeth angrily, reaching behind the back of the sofa and drawing out Garag.

"You're doing a great job of commanding Garag. I should commend you for a medal," Avery growled at the Grunt, who paled. Obviously it understood the sarcasm, thank God.

"We heard thing outside. [i[Scary[/i] things!" Garag squeaked nervously. The small alien's two fellows chittered in agreement. Johnson was about to shout at them, when he heard the sound of scurrying feet, emanating from outside the doors to the house they'd taken refuge in. Wordlessly, he dropped Garag, and drew out a shotgun from its magnetic clip.

"Cover me," he instructed the terrified Grunts, edging towards the door-frame. He posted himself against it, indicating for the Engineer who was attempting to shield the door to leave. With a shrill whistle, the balloon like alien floated away, joining the Grunts who had, once again, hit behind the sofa.

Johnson prepared to rebuke them, when suddenly the door-frame he rested against began to shudder. He heard whispering and sounds from outside.

Then he heard the sickening tone of a breaching charge being place.

With a cry, Johnson hurled himself away from the door, moments before it imploded in a thousand shards of metal. Dust and Flood spores from the outside were caught in the suction, and for a few moments the doorway was shrouded in darkness.

Johnson picked himself up off the ground, rushing blindly into the cloud of dust. For all he knew the Flood intruders could have stolen VISR equipment. Better to meet them close quarters than be picked off whilst unable to see them.

He bumped into something large, and immediately fired a round from his shotgun. He heard a cry of pain, and aimed a heavy blow with the butt of the pump action weapon at the source of the sound. He heard the Flood form trip, yet still could not see.

Just then, a heavy blow crashed into his back, sending him flying into the wall on the far side of the room. The metal where he hit crumpled, and no bones seemed to be broken -- another perk of being a Spartan I was that augmentation made bones stronger.

He spun around, drawing a a Designated Marksman Rifle, aiming it at where he remembered the Flood form had fell. The dust had cleared, and Johnson could now see what he had been fighting.

Two Elites, dressed in ornate and bulky armour.

"Err...hi," Johnson began sheepishly, shouldering his rifle. To his surprise though, the Elite still standing rushed him, knocking the pistol he had quickly drawn out of his hand, and pinning him against the wall. Johnson stared at the Elite incredulous.

"What the hell you playin' at? You can see very well I ain't no Flood form, bastard," Johnson barked at the Elite, who cocked his head.

"Should I put it down Relg?" the Elite pinning him questioned the one lying on the ground, indicating his captive. That was all Johnson needed to hear. He broke the Elite's grasp slightly, drawing a plasma knife out from his belt. Without any hesitation, the Sergeant plunged the sharp end of the weapon into the Elite's hand, pushing him away as the tall, muscular alien cried out with both shock and pain.

Thankfully then, Garag and his two subordinates finally decided to spring into action, jumping out from behind the sofa, aiming charged plasma pistols and loaded Needle Rifles at the stunned Elites who had just entered.

"What is this? Stand down Unggoy!" the Elite Johnson had stabbed commanded. The Grunts exchanged nervous looks, but kept their weapons steady. Johnson took advantage of the distraction caused by the Grunts to draw out his DMR and ram it under the Elite's vulnerable, unshielded throat.  
"I'm in charge around here I think you'll find. Drop your weapons," Johnson instructed the Elite and the other named Relg.

"Do as he says Malkor," Relg ordered the other Elite, who began stripping the old, splendid looking weapons from his armour.

"What say you we settle this like real warriors _human_? No rifles, no swords, no knives; just me, and you," Malkor challenged Johnson, who frowned.

"Why the hell would I risk my life when I've got a fully loaded _gun_ poised in a position to kill you? Dumbass."

"Malkor, _enough_. It would seem events have transpired since our forced exile. I believe this is a big misunderstanding," Relg soothed his friend, rising into a sitting position.

"Garag, watch _him._ I'm keepin' an eye on this one. Now, you two, what do you think you're doing? We're on the same side!" Johnson questioned of Relg and Malkor. The brows of both Elites rose considerably.

"The same side? Since when?" Relg asked. Johnson frowned, bemused.

"A few weeks, maybe a bit longer. I've been in cryo for a lot of it. How come you don't know?"

Relg chuckled, and seemed to relax.

"We've been trapped on this planet since the Flood attacked. Malkor and I thought that you humans were still hostile to us. I apologise on behalf of both us Sergeant," the Elite on the floor said, smiling.

"You've survived on this place since the Flood attacked? Damn. Garag, make sure you _definitely_ don't take your eyes of them, these two are hard bastards."

There was a tense moment, and then Johnson burst out laughing, drawing his DMR barrel away from Malkor's neck. Malkor clicked his mandibles together, before drawing back, helping Relg up.

Relg then turned to Johnson.

"Now, human. Do you mind telling me what you're doing in my home?"


	37. Chapter 37

_Since many people are asking, I'll explain why they can't just "bomb the citadel." The Gravemind, as explained in earlier parts is essentially an organic computer which can form anywhere the Flood are. If you just blow it up, it'll form again, somewhere and sometime. The only way to totally destroy it, and prevent it from ever returning is by injecting it with Mendicant Bias' virus, which will cripple the Flood network._

_I thought I'd explained this before, it must have been in a chapter which I deleted to rewrite. Apologies. Thanks for reading, and if you don't already, please review._

**Part 37 - Rallying the troops**

Captain Daniels, the newly appointed head of the UNSC fleet by default, bit the lower half of his lip nervously.

He was expected to just take up the mantle and lead the fleet to glorious victory. The truth was that Daniels didn't have a clue about what to do. The Flood had stopped firing for a few moments, and seemed to be recharging their ship shields. The fleets attacking them were content to let them do so -- their own shields could do with a bit of a boost.

That give him time, then, to assimilate control over the armada he now commanded. Thankfully, he wasn't alone in the battle.

"Steel yourself for what must be done Captain. There shall be time to grieve after the battle," the Prophet of Equanimity consoled him through a video link.

"The Prophet speaks the truth human. You must now keep a sound mind, if we are to buy our ground forces enough time," Imperial Admiral R'tas 'Vadum concurred, folding his arms.

"Thank you for your wise words. What do you think I should do now?" Graham questioned the two other leaders. R'tas stroked his jaw thoughtfully.

"Take advantage of this temporary cease fire in order to reorientate your fellows. Send out ships to recover the lifeboats which escaped detonating ships," R'tas began to advise. "I then suggest you make a speech to your warriors; they will be disheartened due to the destruction of your flagship. Rekindle the flame that now burns dimly inside of them."

"And be prepared. The Flood could attack once again at any moment. Keep your shields up at all times," Equanimity cautioned, with a knowing waggle of the finger.

"Keep your wits about you Captain. We know you will do Harper proud," R'tas finished off.

"Roger that. Daniels out."

The video link cut off.

Graham sighed, taking a quick swig of Vodka. Not enough to addle his mind though. He then moved to a secure intercom, and signalled the 3rd Fleet, instructing them to recover all lifeboats giving out a beacon. The Lieutenant Commander who had replaced the now dead Captain who had commanded the fleet affirmed his orders.

_Make a speech to your warriors._ The words of R'tas ringed inside Graham's mind. He'd never been very good at speeches -- his brother was a politician, not he. Still, R'tas had been right in saying that morale was at a low. It would hearten the soldiers to hear their leader's voice.

Coming to a decision, the Captain opened up a UNSC fleet wide communications link, taking in a deep breath. He was aware that countless humans would be listening to his every word.

"Men and women of the United Nations Space Command Navy," he began formally, pacing up and down the secluded command bridge. "This is Captain Graham Daniels speaking, acting commander of the UNSC. I want to begin this speech by commending every last one of you for your service today. We are, all of us, making history on this day. A thousand years from now, seminars and lectures will be held on our actions. Every previous conflict in human history pales in comparison to this battle. Even the Battle of Reach is dwarfed by the conflict we are now engaged in."

Daniels wasn't sure whether or not he was making a complete fool of himself, but he decided to trudge on regardless.

"For we are not just fighting over resources, or to gain land, or even to protect a colony. We are _fighting_, my fellow humans, to put to rest once and for all the deadliest threat this galaxy has ever faced."

He took a drink from his flask to wet his lips.

"The Forerunners, an ancient race which existed 100,000 years ago, were destroyed by the Flood, as I'm sure you all know. But they were not humanity. They lacked the drive we possess, the adaption we possess. Our fighting spirit. We held out against the Covenant Empire when they were engaged in their genocidal campaign, and not only that; we _beat_ the technologically and numerically superior Covenant and sent them scurrying into the nearest asteroid cluster they could find. And now, they and the Elites turn to we, humanity, for help to defeat a common and greater enemy."

"I won't lie, many of you will die out there today. But you will die with the taste of victory on your lips, and years from now, people will look back at you all as heroes, as saviours who fought for their very _existence_. The Flood think they can just roll over humanity, and that we will lie down and let them. I implore you, my friends -- my brothers and sisters -- to show them just how wrong they are! We will hold the line together, as one, and we shall force the Flood back into whatever dark corner of space they dared to creep out from!"

Suddenly, a wave of cheering broke out from the other ends of the fleetcom, the sound nearly deafening Graham. He blinked, snapping out of the trance like state he had entered when making his speech.

_Did I really just say all that?_ he wondered in reverie, wearing a foolish grin. Glancing around the command bridge, he saw that the Ensigns and Lieutenants who helped him pilot the _Galapagos_ were staring up and him with nothing but pure respect and admiration.

"Quite a speech human. You even sent a shiver down _my_ spine," R'tas praised, appearing on a video screen.

"You were listening in?" Daniels questioned, slightly disturbed by the fact that his speech -- aimed at humans alone -- had reached alien ears.

"My curiosity got the better of me I'm afraid. You have successfully rallied your troops, far better than I would have ever hoped. There is no doubt in my mind that every soldier in every UNSC ship would die in the name of your species this day," the Elite told Graham. The Captain frowned -- was what R'tas said true? He didn't like the idea of deaths being on his hands, even if indirectly.

"If luck is on our side, hopefully it won't come to that Imperial Admiral."

* * * * * * * *

"We've been holed up here for a while now. Outside got too hot, and our unit had been drastically reduced in size. Most of it is out there now, fighting unwillingly for the other side," Sergeant Johnson explained, talking even as he lined up his sniper scope with the head of a Flood Tank form. The beast was engaged with a few ODSTs, and seemed to be winning the fight.

"You've done a good job defending this place," Relg complimented, reclining in a chair underneath a portion of the roof which still stood standing.

"Of course," Johnson stated modestly, pulling the trigger of the sniper as he did so. The .60 calibre round cut through the air, embedding firmly in the cranium of the Tank form. It raised it's large, clumsy hands to its head for a moment, as if in puzzlement. The body still hadn't realised the mind was dead. After a few seconds though, it tumbled to the ground, where it lay still evermore.

The ODSTs which had been fighting it looked towards the source of the killing shot, and through his scope Johnson saw them give a salute of thanks. Even though he knew they wouldn't be able to see it, Johnson saluted back.

"The Engineer helped; setting up turrets and shields. He doesn't speak much -- I don't think he even understands what's going on to be honest. Still, he's damn good at his job, I'll give him that."

The Jackal beside Johnson fired a shot, causing the floor he was lying on to tremble ever so slightly.

"So Relg, what's your plan? I hope you don't plan to sit in that chair drinking tea all day," he frowned at the Elite, who put his mug down with a chuckle.

"Don't be ridiculous. I plan on leaving with Malkor as soon as he has gathered up our weapons. I'd prefer to be modest now, but I really can't -- we are both incredible warriors. Together, we will make a real difference in the battle," Relg explained, looking awkward as he described his skill.

"Oh yeah? And where do you plan to go? Will you link up with the main army?" Johnson questioned further, letting loose another round; one which threw a small Flood soldier which was operating a turret out of its seat and into a pool of its own blood.

"I doubt it. We would be too constricted by the masses. No, we'd probably work best as a separate force, cutting through on our own. You say a task force has been sent to infiltrate the Citadel?" the Light of Helios questioned.

"Yeah, led by the Master Chief. We're all just one big diversion really, the real battle will take place inside the heart of that palace over there. They're planning on killing the Gravemind."

Relg's brow rose, and he scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"Truly? Then it would seem our destination is the Citadel; we will link up with the task force and assist them in taking down their target," the Elite stated boldly. Johnson was so surprised by his words that the next shot he fired missed its target, nearly hitting a Brute Chieftain swinging around a Gravity Hammer.

"You're going _inside_ the Citadel? Are you crazy? There's an entire legion of Flood between us and those front doors."

"And that legion shall soon be reduced to dust," Relg proclaimed proudly, pounding his chest.

"The two of you will never make it on foot. You'll be picked off by sniper's as soon as you enter their field of site."

There was silence for a few moments.

"Not if we move too fast for them to shoot us," Relg mused, smiling. Johnson narrowed his eyes at him.

"What do you mean?" he asked. The Light of Helios informed the Sergeant of his plan. Johnson digested the information for a few moments before replying.

"You're insane. Your plan is insane. I'm coming with you."

* * * * * * * *

"I'm picking up a blip sir," Petty Officer Jacobs reported to his superior, indicating the radar on the Longsword fighter's dashboard.

"Another lifeboat?" Ensign Lawson asked Jacobs, leaning forward. The PO nodded.

"Looks like it. Air supplies are low; it seems to be from the _Soul of Ice_. Strange, I didn't think any lifeboats got clear of the explosion..."

"We're close to bingo fuel Jacobs. Do you think we should?"

"With all due respect sir, the shuttle's life support seems to be failing. If we head back to refuel now, the occupants could be dead by the time we return."

Lawson sighed, wrestling with the choice before him. He was receiving a visual now, and sure enough, saw a lifeboat spinning around in free float. Finally, a decision was made.

"All right, let's help these people. Move closer and attach the shuttle Petty Officer. We'll both head on board and move the survivors onto the Longsword. Then we'll head back to the _Galapagos_, Captain Daniels is going to need us at the controls when the fighting breaks out again."

* * * * * * * * * *

Ten minutes later, Phillip Eden stood impassively over the motionless corpses of Petty Officer Jacobs and Ensign Lawson. The pistol he held in his hand trailed smoke, and his grimy Admiral's uniform was splattered with blood.

"Forgive me, I did what had to be done," Eden whispered, bending down and sliding the two naval soldier's eyes closed.

The two had docked with Eden's shuttle, and had soon boarded. The scene they had found was not one they had expected. Rather than a shuttle full of relieved crew members, they had found a disgraced Admiral they believed dead aiming an M6C at them.

_Why hadn't they just stood down? I would have been content to just tie them up and leave them unharmed,_ Eden thought regretfully. But no, the two had immediately tried to reach for their assasult rifles, and had left Eden with no choice other than to kill them. A more skilled soldier could have perhaps merely maimed them badly; but Eden was not such a man. He'd actually missed the second shot, and had been forced for a few seconds to listen to Lawson's screams of pain.

Remorse could come later; right now Eden had a job to do. No, not a job, a _duty_. To his species.

Stepping over the bodies, Eden moved into the Longsword, shutting the door on the gruesome scene he left behind.

Expertly, he started up the Longsword engine and detached from the now lifeless shuttle. With careful deliberation, he input the coordinates for the UNSC _Galapagos_, and began to prepare his plan.


	38. Chapter 38

**Part 38 - Infiltration**

CPO Mendez wasn't as young as he used to be. Whilst he wanted nothing more to be fighting on the ground, his health problems made this impossible. He'd never taken to the Spartan I augmentations as easily as Sergeant Johnson had.

It hadn't been all that much of a problem when he'd been younger, but the recent months had taken their toll upon him. He'd have been more of a hindrance than a help on Sangheilios.

So, to his dismay, Mendez had been assigned to sentry duty on the UNSC _Galapagos._

One of the Longswords which had been sent out on a rescue mission was fast approaching the _Galapagos._ Sensors indicated it was low on fuel. Sighing at his misfortune, Mendez hailed the small Longsword.

"Lima Romeo 264, hold where you are please," he instructed the pilot of the Longsword. The small fighter ground to a halt, just inside the kill zone.

"_Is there a problem Galapagos?"_ a muffled voice replied, the voice coming from the Longsword.

"You sound distorted Lima Romeo, what's wrong?" Mendez questioned suspiciously.

"Radio transmitter got smashed against an asteroid, I got careless," the voice replied, that of a man's. He seemed to have an English accent, although it was hard to tell through the distortion.

"Roger that." There were plenty of asteroids in the space above Sangheilios, nothing strange there. "Lima Romeo, I'm going to ask you the question you were assigned before you left on the Longsword."

It was a precautionary measure, in case the ship was captured by the Flood. If everything was above board, then the pilot would reply 'Alpha.' If he was under duress, then the pilot would answer 'Omega.' The question had been designed by Admiral Eden before his treachery, and so far had lead to seven ships being detected and subsequently destroyed.

There were a few tense moments, as Mendez's finger held over the button which would send a pulse laser straight at the Longsword.

"Alpha," the voice finally replied. Mendez let out a sigh of relief.

"Affirmative, you are cleared to dock. An armed response team will meet you as you exit your craft, do not be alarmed."

"Copy."

A few moments passed in which the docking clamps latched on to the Longsword, securing it. As the small craft was lowered gently through the shield door into the docking bay, an armed unit of three rushed past Mendez, all of them holding MA5Cs. The bullets in the gun were softer than usual, so that they wouldn't penetrate the ship's hull if fired.

Mendez stayed in his booth, bored. The same routine had been happening all day, with ships moving back and forth. As he often did, the CPO reminisced about the old days, fighting with Johnson and the other surviving Spartan Is in the early days of the Covenant war -- after the IIs had been trained. The Spartans Mendez were trained were incredible -- of course they were, Mendez had trained them after all --, but there simply weren't enough of them. And when funding for a second class had been put on hold, Mendez and the other S Is had been approached by a division of ONI.

The Spartan I project, had been, for the most part, a failure. A tiny percentage of the candidates had survived. Still, the ones that had were better than the average marine.

And so a little task force of Spartan Is had been formed. Mendez had led them, with Johnson as his second in command. They'd fought in the early years of the war, making quite a difference. Sometimes they'd even fought alongside the Spartan IIs, and had given them quite a run for their money too. Their identities had been masked at all times, and most soldiers who had seen them in action thought them prototype robots built to fight in the war.

_Good days_, Mendez thought ruefully. Of course, it hadn't lasted. One by one, the Spartan Is had fallen, until only Mendez and Johnson remained. And when Mendez had been approached by Colonel Ackerson to train the newest class of Spartans, the Spartan IIIs, that had been the end of his adventures. He hadn't seen Johnson since, not until a couple of months ago.

Even the Spartan IIIs were gone now, mostly. The only two who remained were Tom and Lucy. Then again, Gamma team had shipped out shortly before the attack on Onyx. Hundreds of them, little more than teenagers, albeit teenagers stronger than 21 year old Olympic athletes. Where the hell were they? Probably dead as well, killed on some suicide mission.

The door to the Longsword was sliding open now. The marines securing the landing had their rifles pointed in the opening.

Suddenly, a small object was tossed down the ramp where it rested at the foot of the marines. Mendez jumped out of his chair, staring through the bulletproof glass of his boot with dread.

One of the marines looked down, and nudged the small canister with the barrel of his rifle. Greenhorn kid, by the looks of it.

Mendez knew what the canister was, and quickly turned his eyes away from the small object. Almost immediately after he did so, the object exploded in a flurry of light.

The armed marines stumbled back, all the photosensitive cells in their retina momentarily activated at once, clouding their vision. Before Mendez could react, rifle fire came out from inside the Longsword, ripping through the armour of the marines before they knew what hit them.

They tumbled to the ground, motionless. Mendez felt his heart constrict, and willed himself to calm down. A heart attack wouldn't be good at a time like this.

He tore back the cover of a shelf on the wall, and grabbed from the rack an 8 gauge shotgun. He put a Kevlar body suit on, before affixing a fully encompassing helmet upon his head. As an afterthought, he grabbed a Jackal shield and affixed the gauntlet to his wrist.

A figure was striding down the ramp of the Longsword now. Mendez posted against the corner of a wall, breathing deeply. Pumping the shotgun, he swung out of cover, aiming at the figure. He fired a shot without even shouting a warning, the shotgun kicking back against his hands.

To his dismay, the rounds merely dissipated against a kinetic barrier which suddenly formed in front of the man. He was wearing one of the new prototype shielding systems, developed by humans with the help of some Engineers who had stayed loyal to them, even when the Elites had begun an insurrection.

Not good.

"Throw down your weapon soldier and I won't kill you," the figure shouted, with an air of authority. Mendez looked down at his weapon, and looked at the shielding equipment which twisted around the blood stained Admiral's uniform the man wore.

Sighing, Mendez dropped the shotgun on the ground, kicking it away. He dropped onto his knees and lifted his hands up in the air.

The figure moved over, and with a shock Mendez realised he recognised the face.

"Eden?" he whispered in disbelief. "But, you're _dead!_"

"I escaped the _Soul of Ice_ in time. Lucky me. Now tell me soldier, where is Captain Daniels?" Eden demanded, aiming his rifle at Mendez's beating chest. The CPO spat on Eden's boots.

"Go to hell. I'm not telling you," he told the treacherous Admiral defiantly. Eden smiled, shaking his head.

"Oh you will tell me soldier. Or I'll have to go through the ship and kill some other people until I find someone who will tell me," Eden threatened.

"What do you want with the Captain?" Mendez questioned. Eden looked at him quizzically for a second, before laughing.

"I'm not killing him! No, I won't do that. Think of me what you want soldier, I'm acting in the best interests of humanity. Join me, I'll see to it you're rewarded afterwards."

"No thanks," Mendez declined with scorn.

"What a shame. Regardless, tell me where he is," Eden flicked the safety of his rifle.

"You're a traitor. He's up in the bridge, obviously. Where else would he be?"

"I don't know. He could have been in the observation deck. He could have been asleep. He could've been anywhere, this is a big ship. Anyway, are you sure you won't come with and help me?"

"No," Mendez gritted out.

"Oh well."

The shots fired smashed into Mendez's chest with an air of finality, ripping through the Kevlar vest like a hot knife through butter. With a cry, the CPO sprawled backwards.

"Terribly sorry mate, but, well, I can't have you sounding an alarm or anything like that," Eden bent down to Mendez's level. The CPO was gasping for breath, shuddering violently. Eden regarded him with sympathy, taking off his helmet.

"This is a good death. An honourable one. There is no shame in this. Your duty and dedication to your cause will be remembered. When this is over, I'll make sure you have a fitting funeral. Rest in peace."

Mendez could only watch as Eden stood up, gave one last, regretful look down at the CPO's bleeding body, and walked off in the direction of the bridge, reloading his rifle.

_I've led a good life. Without the Spartans that I trained, humanity would have been wiped out long ago. I'm ready to die._

That was the last thought Mendez had before he fell into the murky well of the abyss, exhaling his final breath.

* * * * * *

_Lord forgive me_, Eden prayed as he moved down the long, silent corridors of the _Galapagos_, moving in the direction of the bridge.

He made sure to use an override code, locking most of the crew in their rooms. That would stop any unexpected interruptions.

Eden rounded the corner, and came face to face with a security guard. After a moments hesitation, the guard swung a fist at Eden's face, sending him sprawling backwards. Eden knew the next few seconds were vital, and so, ignoring the pain, drew out his Assault Rifle, pointing it at the frozen guard.

_I could knock him out -- but what if he wakes up before I'm finished? He could sound the alarm. No, there is only one option._

Eden squeezed the trigger, letting five rounds exit the rifle, and embed themselves in the guard's chest.

Checking for certain that the man was dead, Eden moved along, once again reloading his rifle. He was wasting nearly full magazines, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Finally, he ascended some stairs and came to a pause just at the mouth of the corridor leading to the command bridge. Two marines stood outside, smoking and each holding a cup of coffee. Without slowing down his stride, Eden attached a silencer to his rifle and shot each of them once in the head. The cups of coffee splashed to the ground, and the two marines slumped.

Moving over to a security panel by the heavy blast door which cut off the bridge from the rest of the ship, Eden rested his hand on it. His authorisation levels hadn't been deleted yet, and Eden had full control of the command bridge.

Captain Daniels was located in his own, sealed compartment, where he held meetings. Perfect.

With a few small movements, Eden depressurised the lower half of the command bridge, where most of the crew was. Daniels would be safe. Oxygen levels fell, and through one of the security cameras inside the room, Eden could see the crew suffocate to death, wondering what was happening. One by one, they all toppled, until no more remained alive.

_I'm going to burn in a very special level of hell for this,_ Eden thought grimly, before reminding himself that this was all for the greater good.

He strapped an oxygen mask to his face, breathing in deeply a few times. Then, he opened the first door which led to the command bridge. The system worked on a gate like mechanism. One door had to be closed for the other to open. Eden stepped into the gap between the first and second gate. Slowly, the first closed, which then prompted the second to open.

Eden suddenly found himself in a vacuum. The anti gravity technology -- UNSC ships no longer used gyrating centres to create artificial gravity -- had also been shut down, and the Admiral found himself rising through the air.

At the far end of the room was the entrance to the upper command bridge, where Captain Daniels and the system which would allow Eden to take basic control of every ship in the UNSC fleet lay. Bracing himself, he pushed himself away from the wall, floating without any gravity or air resistance battling against him. At one point, a suffocated corpse drifted past him, and Eden could not suppress a shudder. After a few moments, he reached the flight of stairs leading to Daniels, and grabbed on to the railings of the staircase to stop himself from floating.

With precision, Eden began to move himself up the stairs, coming to a rest outside the airtight door. There was another security panel beside it, which Eden easily gained control of. This time, he didn't drain oxygen levels, and merely started up the door opening process.

Halfway between the two 'gates', Eden took of his oxygen mask, and drew out his rifle, flicking the safety off. This was it, this was everything he'd been leading up to.

The second door swung open into Captain Daniels' upper command bridge.

Waiting for him inside was an armed Captain, and five Elite Rangers, alert and all aiming plasma rifles at him.

_Crap._


	39. Chapter 39

**Part 39 - Are **_**you**_** with humanity, Captain?**

"Drop your weapon Admiral," Graham ordered Eden coldly. If murder could be personified, then it would be described as the stare the Captain burned through Eden with.

Eden dropped his weapon, and to Graham's shock, began laughing, applauding.

"Very good captain, you caught me in the act, red handed."

"You're going to pay for this Eden. We won't bother with prisons. Do you know what the UNSC does to traitors? I'm sure you do. Lethal injection," Graham growled at the Admiral, whose smile turned to a frown of annoyance.

"I'm not the traitor my friend. No, _you_ are all traitors! Every human who bowed down to these alien freaks of nature are traitors!" Eden indicated the ranger Elites, who glanced at each other. "I'm many things Daniels, but traitor is not one of them. I'm a saviour."

Graham laughed with scorn, as did the Elites beside him. At hearing the Elites mock him, Eden's fists clenched, and his jaw tightened. An utter xenophobe.

"Saviour? Saviour of _who?_ Yourself? You've killed many good people on this ship Admiral. Innocents, with families back home."  
"Small sacrifices for the greater good. You know this Captain."

As Eden finished this, the door behind him opened, and a squad of seven ODSTs charged in the room, rifles aimed at the Admiral.

"Sir!" the leader of the ODSTs saluted to Graham.

"Have you restored oxygen levels in the ship?" Daniels asked, looking down with disgusted pity at the defeated Eden.

"Affirmative sir, gravity too," the ODST Captain replied, jamming into his barrel into the back of Eden's neck. "On your knees scum."

Eden sank to the ground, putting his hands behind his head, giving a melodramatic sigh. Graham stared at the Admiral suspiciously, and thought for a second he could see the ghostly trace of a smile playing around Eden's lips. But after an instant it was gone, replaced by a blank stare of obvious depression. Daniels dismissed the incident as a trick of the light.

Slowly, he walked towards Eden, bending down to his level.

"You're defeated, Eden. It's over. Make peace with God, maybe he'll find somewhere in his heart to forgive you."

Eden's head rose, and Graham was slightly unnerved by the grim, confident smile he was treated to. The Admiral shook his head.

"You know Captain Daniels, for someone so intelligent, you are remarkably dim at times. So gullible," Eden laughed mockingly. Daniels frowned, and in anger smacked Eden in the face. Eden still laughed, even through a bloodied nose.

"I don't think you've grasped the situation Eden. Today, justice wins. I hold all the right cards," Graham told Eden in a disgusted voice.

"Ah, but dear Captain, perhaps I have an ace up my sleave. Perhaps I have seven."

What did he mean? With a sudden realisation, Daniels looked up at the trooper aiming a gun at Eden. Dread filled him.

"My my Captain; surely you didn't believe that these ODSTs were _your_ men?"

Suddenly, the ODST Captain withdrew the battle rifle barrel from Eden's neck and aimed it at an Elite. The rest of the ODST squad did the same. Before the Elite Rangers could draw out their plasma rifles, the ODSTs fired; the first wave of shots took down the shields, and the second wave soared clean through their necks, sharply cutting off the screams of pain and shock. The five Rangers tumbled to the ground, dead.

Graham drew out his magnum and fired a shot. It hit an ODST, who cried out in pain as his bullet torn leg collapsed beneath his weight. Before he could do anything else though, Eden sprung into action, knocking the gun out of his hand with one fist and striking him heavily in the gut with another. The Captain staggered back, gasping for breath. Before he could reorientate himself, an ODST violently grabbed his wrists and bound them together with manacles.

Eden was stood up, brushing the dust off his blood stained Admiral's coat, regarding with distaste a fleck of Elite blood which had splashed onto his insignia.

"I'm going to have to get a new coat after all this," he muttered casually, as if he had just taken a walk through the woods and accidently got some mud on himself.

"Well Eden? What now?" Daniels demanded, glaring at the Admiral.

Eden chuckled, sitting down in the Captain's chair, running a fond hand across the mahogany shell.

"Well I think a drink is in order for starters," Eden began. "Don't you think so, Captain Reece?"

The ODST removed his helmet, revealing him to be a war torn man of around forty, with more scars on his face than Daniels had had hot meals.

"That sounds like a plan sir," Reece agreed. He and his fellow ODSTs sat in the visitors lounge in the corner of the room. Eden beckoned Graham to move towards him. Feeling the laser sights aimed at his back, he trudged forward, sitting opposite to Eden.

"This is what we people in power call _escalation_, Graham. You held the gun at my head a minute ago, and now," Eden drew out a pistol and jammed it into the Captain's sweating forehead, "I hold one at yours."

"What's your plan?" Graham demanded, and to his surprise, a look of elation crossed over Eden's face. The Admiral removed the gun from his captive's head, drawing out a pack of Lambert and Butler cigarettes.

"Want one?" Eden queried, sticking one of the ends of the cigarette into his mouth, lighting it with the lighter hanging around a chain on his neck. Graham remained stoic, not wanting to accept anything from the corrupt Admiral.

"Suit yourself," Eden muttered disappointedly, breathing smoke into Graham's face. Smoking wasn't as dangerous as it used to be. Nicotine levels were pretty much none-existent, and many of the dangerous chemicals inside the cylinder had been substituted with safer elements. The risk of cancer was still present, but in these modern days, cancer was no longer a problem as it had once been up until the 22nd Century -- a Doctor could cure it within an hour.

Even so, Graham thought it a disgusting habit.

"Sir, I have full control of the ship's airlocks and life support systems," the ODST Captain, Reece, called over. Graham felt himself go cold, his eyes widening.

"Choke 'em Reece," Eden replied with a trace of regret and remorse in his voice.

"Roger that sir. Rest in peace, crew."

Before Graham could utter a word from his shocked mouth, a siren warning that airlocks were open sounded, each ring it made signalling that an area of the ship had been exposed to the cold, unforgiving reaches of space.

In less than a minute, the entire crew of the Galapagos was dead.

"And all falls quiet," Eden murmured, a lone tear falling from the corner of his eye.

"Murderer!" Graham shouted, standing up aggressively. Eden, without glancing up from the desk that had his attention held, aimed the gun at him once again.

"Small sacrifices for the greater good," the Admiral repeated, shaking his head as if to clear the melancholia which had grasped him for a moment.

"Good? What are you doing that could possibly be considered good?" Daniels demanded. Eden sighed.

"Please, sit down Captain. I'd hate to have to shoot you in the leg, but in earnest, you're beginning to annoy me. However, I understand your anger -- how could you not be angry, not knowing why I have done things I have done?"

Reluctantly, Graham sat himself down.

"Explain then."

Eden smiled, a quick, small tug at the corners of his mouth. Graham realised that Eden didn't like having people hate him -- so why was he doing all this?

"I'll start at the beginning. When I was very young, I lived on one of the Outer Colonies. My father was governor, my mother a prestigious lawyer."

"I had a good childhood, albeit a lonely one. My parents had little time for me, and my father forbid me from going to a state school -- nothing but the very best private tutor on the planet for me. I had few friends."

Graham was unable to stop himself from getting a wry comment in. "That's surprising, did the other children not share your passion for murder and genocide?"

"Call me what you will Daniels, just not until I've finished my tale. As I said, I lived a good life -- until the Covenant attacked when I was 18 years old."

"My parents, of course, had their own private escape vessel. They told me to come with them. But I couldn't. There was a girl out there, Amelia, the love of my life. My parents didn't approve of her, she came from a farming family. I didn't care. Whilst my parents left on their ship, I went out into the city where the Covenant roamed, searching for her. Ironically, my parents were shot down as they left the planet."

"I found her, eventually. Trapped inside a burning barn at her farm house. An Elite was stood by it, laughing as he heard her screams from inside. Her parents were already dead, killed by falling pieces of rubble. The Elite had grown confident, and wasn't paying attention. It didn't hear me as I crept up behind it. By the time it had noticed me, it was too late for it to do anything; I pushed it into the fire. Its screams melded with Amelia's, before both of them suddenly stopped."

"I broke down the barn, moving through the fire to save Amelia. I found her, or what was left of her anyway. I knew as soon as I saw her body aflame that she was dead. Feeling all the weight leave my legs, I fell to my knees. Soon after, the smoke seeped into my lungs, and before I knew it I was unconscious, about to suffocate to death next to my lifeless girlfriend."

The ODST Captain, Reece, suddenly cut in. "-- and that's when I found him!"

Eden frowned in annoyance. "Yes, Reece, thank you for interrupting. Reece found me lying in the fire; he was just a private back then, in the Colonial Military. He'd seen the dead Elite outside, and figured something was up. He pulled me out from the fire, and took me back to his Pelican. Saved my life."

"When we reached the nearest colony, I found Lord Hood waiting for me as I left the ship I'd come on. He was only a Captain back then. Told me he was my uncle, and that he was going to look after me."

"Hood was a better father than my biological one could have ever hoped to be. He encouraged me to join the Navy, and I quickly flew through the ranks. Vowed to utterly destroy the Covenant. I always volunteered for the most dangerous missions, and soon I commanded a ship of my own. The UNSC _Amelia_, I called it. Every time I destroyed a Covenant ship, I did so in Amelia's name."

"In the mean time, Reece had been selected to become an ODST. We became best friends, and I requested that he be assigned to my ship. Saved us from countless boarding parties."

"Soon enough I reached the rank of Admiral. People didn't like it, they said it was due to Hood's influence. I proved them wrong when I saved one of the largest inner colonies with a fleet smaller than the Covenant one invading."

"And then, suddenly, all this crap with Halo happened. I learn that the Elites are coming to work with us. I was robbed of my revenge."

"So that's what this is all about?" Daniels questioned in disbelief, "revenge?"

"At first, yes. When Hood was killed, I had yet another reason to hate the Elites. With his death, I saw a chance to get my revenge on Elites, to command the UNSC, and to ensure humanity's place as ruler of the galaxy."

"But it has become more than that. I'm sick of the fighting. And I'm sick of the aliens. This isn't about revenge any more, this is about duty to humanity. We have a chance to put the Elites, the Covenant -- everyone in a position to be killed by the Flood, Captain. Humanity can rule over the survivors.

"I hold in my neural interface override codes I built into every single shipboard AI in the UNSC fleet. The codes will override their control, and I'll be able to disable all the UNSC ships. I'll keep their shields up of course, but they will be quite unable to move."

"All we need to do is just hang back when the aliens move forward. Then, once they've been wiped out, the UNSC can surge forward and wipe out the Flood and the remaining Elite and Covenant ships in one glorious strike. A new galactic era shall rise, a human empire!"

"With you as the emperor?" Daniels asked suspiciously. Eden shook his head passionately.

"No! It would be a human council, where everyone is equal. Everyone makes the decisions. I'd be on it, you'd be on it -- united, we could make the galaxy a better place. We steal the Elite technology, research the Halos to upgrade our technology with the intelligence of the Forerunners. The Engineers hate the Covenant as much as we do, they'll be spared, they'll rule alongside us. The Elites, Jackals, Grunts, Prophets, Brutes, Hunters, all the rest will be forced to accept our rule -- we'll make them rebuild our planets! We won't wipe them out, we'll just make sure they have to accept our regime. What do you say, Captain? Are you with me? Are you with humanity?"

Graham stared at the egomaniacal, idealistic man sitting opposite to him, and realised that Eden really did want him on his side. He believed he was doing the right thing.

_The real question is, do _I _believe he's doing the right thing?_

The answer to that self imposed question was obvious.

"Yes, I'm with humanity," Graham replied, nodding his head. Eden's face shone like an excited schoolboy's, and a wide, toothy grin broke out across his face.

"Fantastic! Truly excellent, it'll be good to have you by my side," Eden replied, pressing a button on his wrist computer. Graham suddenly felt the electronic manacles binding his arms behind his back release with a depressurising hiss.

Eden poured two glasses of brandy, passing one over to Daniels. He then lifted his glass.

"A toast!" he began, motioning for Graham to lift his own glass. "A toast, to humanity, and new beginnings!"

"A toast," Graham echoed softly.

Graham's glass touched Eden's with a ring

Bracing himself for what would happen next, Graham then brought his glass heavily down on the table. Eden jumped, surprised. Before the Admiral could react, Graham bounded across to the other side of the table with the shard of broken, sharp glass he held, grabbing Eden roughly and holding the razor sharp edge of the glass against Eden's soft, stubbled neck.

The ODSTs had caught wind of what was happening, but by then it was too late. Daniels had Eden in an unbreakable position, all he had to do was shift his hands slightly and the Admiral's throat would be slit.

"Touché, Captain," Eden breathed softly, trying to keep his neck from moving too much as he inhaled breath.

"All of you! Throw down your weapons!" Graham shouted at the ODSTs, who deferred to their Captain.

"Don't do it Reece! Kill us both, then take my codes! Promise to carry on my work! Promise to save humanity, and have me remembered!" Eden shouted at the ODST team leader, who seemed hesitant to shoot his friend.

"Stand down!" Reece ordered his men, who looked at each other uncertainly.

"Ignore him! Shoot us! That's an order!" Eden shrieked, shocking Graham. If there had ever been doubt in his mind that Eden wasn't doing all this for humanity's sake, there wasn't now.

"I said stand down! I'm sorry Phillip, I won't shoot you, nor will any of my men, if they value their health," Reece commanded, and eventually the ODSTs obeyed the man they'd served with for years, rather than the Admiral who was prepared to sacrifice himself. As one, they all threw down their weapons. Eden swore.

"Leave!" Graham commanded the ODSTs. "Get out of this room!"

There was a moment of silence, where the troopers seemed reluctant to do so. Graham applied the tiniest bit of pressure to the glass shard he held, and a trickle of blood flowed from a small wound in Eden's neck. This was the trigger which made the ODSTs leave the room through the main and only door, which locked automatically behind them.

Now, Graham could hear nothing but then short, quick breaths Eden was taking in.

"Now what Captain? You gonna kill me?" the Admiral asked.

Graham thought for a moment, before reaching a decision.

"I am. Too many people have died today Eden. You don't get to live."

"You're a traitor Daniels. And that's how history will remember you in a hundred years when the aliens have conquered humanity as a result of your weak decisions." Those were Eden's final words.

Graham grasped the glass shard tightly, ignoring the pain as it cut into his hand. He took a deep breath, and prepared to slash the glass across Eden's neck.

That was when the plasma bolt fired from a Flood ship smashed into the side of the_Galapagos_, throwing both naval officers to the floor.

The battle over Sangheilios had resumed.


	40. Chapter 40

**Part 40 - A Surgeon's operation**

He had no name, as far as official records went. Once upon a time he'd had everything. Not just a name, but a loving wife, kids, a magnificent house, and was considered one of the best private investigators in the Outer Colonies. The UNSC, CMA -- even the rebellious URF, all had used his services at one time or another.

Where others saw fragments, and an unsolvable mystery, he saw a jigsaw, waiting to be assembled by an eager and sharp mind.

He had everything; fame, fortune, and love.

Apparently, none of those things had mattered to the Covenant.

In one swift, brutal attack on the colony Endless Horizon back in 2527, everything he cared about had been wiped out. His fortune, burnt to ashes. His fame, burnt to ashes. His love...burnt to ashes.

All that had remained was the intelligence, and the skills.

He remembered well the day ONI had first approached him. He'd been standing in the lunch queue, hoping to get a slice of meat before the other homeless refugees in the charity centre did. Two men had come up to him, and had offered to buy him a meal with an actual form of food in a restaurant down town. There would have once been a time where he'd have thought twice before going off with a couple of strangers on his own, but he'd had nothing to lose, and everything to gain; namely a decent meal.

And then, during a conversation exchanged over a delicious roast dinner, he'd been given a life again. A purpose. To work at ONI, as a high level intelligence agent.

Naturally, he'd joined. His name had been stricken from every record; now he was simply now as the Surgeon.

A fitting name. He pieced together mysteries, operated on dead legends, gave diagnosis on situations. He'd even had medical training at one point, just to make his name even more fitting.

Over the years he had done countless things for the Office of Naval Intelligence; he'd saved lives, doomed others, and on many occasions had simply solved enigmas.

Less than six months ago, he'd been given a momentous task. He'd been asked to piece together every piece of information he could about the legend, the hero of the UNSC who had died in mysterious circumstances; Admiral Preston J. Cole.

What the Surgeon had found had upset him. He'd long considered Cole, as did many, as a hero. In many respects he was; in the course of his career he put down many insurgent uprisings, and destroyed approximately 300 Covenant ships in battle. He was a ruthless, suicidal bastard, but he got the job done.

And then, he'd vanished. Destroyed a Covenant fleet by turning a planet into a Brown Dwarf, and had supposedly died.

That wasn't the case.

Cole had abandoned humanity. There was no other way of putting it. He'd ran off to some distant farming world with the woman he'd married, a woman who'd turned out to be an Insurrectionist Colonel. She'd vanished from his life, only to re-enter it during his final hour, rescuing him from the jaws of death.

And Cole had let her whisk him away. Didn't try to contact the UNSC he'd worked for all his life. He just let humanity die. With Cole dead, the Covenant had been emboldened, and soon wiped out most of the Outer Colonies.

He was a coward.

Still, that didn't change the fact that humanity needed him now. More than ever. Less than an hour ago the Surgeon had received a message via slipspace. Admiral Harper was dead, and now some young Captain had taken his place.

The message was clear, and to the point. "_If you have Cole, then we need him right now. If not, then return to [LOCATION REDACTED] to discuss final measures that can be taken in the event of a loss_."

Luckily, after around a month of hunting, the Surgeon had found Cole. He was living under an alias, secluded and living on a farm with his Innie wife.

He'd always wanted to retire to a farm in the outer colonies. Hopefully, the farmer hadn't erased the battle hardened warrior Cole had once been.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The glass shard flew out of Graham's hand, shattering into a million harmless pieces on the floor. Both he and Admiral Eden were tossed to the floor, with bloodied lips and bruised heads.

"Activate shielding!" Graham barked, and the Virtual Intelligence on board the ship complied with the spoken order, erecting a barrier around the _Galapagos._

He stood up slowly, only to be met by a livid Eden. Before Graham could raise his hands to protect himself, the Admiral dealt him a heavy fist on the jaw, dazing him. When he became aware of his surroundings once again, there was a pistol at him.

"And once again Captain, we have escalation. I'd shoot you, but in all honesty I really want you to watch me save humanity. For you to know you're wrong. Today Captain, the good guys win," Eden breathed, spitting blood on the floor. Graham felt himself heavy handed into a chair, where he was soon bound by rough rope. He could hardly breathe, the knots were so tight. A gag was fastened across his mouth.

Eden was bounding around the bridge, laughing maniacally. The fight in space was beginning, and the UNSC fleet was moving slowly forward to engage the enemy.

"Oh no you don't," Eden muttered, typing away at the keypad. Inputting his override codes, he soon had control over every AI on every UNSC ship. And, with one push of a button, he shut each and every ship in the fleet down, diverting all power to shields and nothing else. The Covenant and Elite fleets soared past the immobile UNSC fleet, which was hanging just outside the Flood kill zone.

A wave of confused voices immediately flooded the Tactical COM, as confused pilots and junior officers wondered why ship systems were not responding.

Then a flabbergasted, alien voice broke through the intercom.

"Captain! What the Devil do you think you're doing? Move your ships up the left flank now, or all shall be lost!" The voice belonged to R'tas Vadum', and was clearly full of distress. Eden chuckled.

"You know, the thought of you alien bastards losing sends a warm feeling through my body. Whine some more Imperial Admiral, by all means please do," the human Admiral responded lightly. There was dark muttering on the other side of the frequency. Finally, R'tas responded.

"Eden." It wasn't a question.

"The very same. I'm sorry Elite, but today humanity will _not_ be throwing its life away to assist a race that deserves to die. Your species killed billions of humans in the war with the Covenant. Some might have forgotten that, but _I_ have not. You'll burn in hell for what you did, all of you."

There was silence for a few moments.

"Eden, we can talk this out at some point in the future. If humanity wants reparations, then we shall--"

"I don't want your money! None of us do! Money will not bring those who died back from the void R'tas. Perhaps you'll realise that when your species is the one facing extinction, not knowing if it shall make it to the next year," Eden snapped back. You had to admire Eden's patriotism, even if he was sick and twisted. He was truly dedicated to humanity.

"Eden, listen. If we do not attack as one, the Flood shall overwhelm all of us," the Elite implored, attempting to reason with a lunatic. Futile.

"Not all of us R'tas. Just _you,_ and the Covenant. Farewell."

R'tas realised the situation was dire, and immediately acted.

"Pull back! Pull back!" he commanded, distress in his voice. The alien fleets still charged into the Flood though, drawing ever closer to their doom.

"Noble one, if we attempt a sharp turn now, the force of it will shear us in half. There is no turning back--"

Eden killed the transmission, a content smile on his face as he looked outwards to the fleets. He then bounded over to Graham, tearing the strip from his mouth.

"_This_ is the turning point Captain. Where humanity tipped the odds in its favour, and survived," Eden breathed, eyes going moist with pride. Graham shook his head.

"It won't last. We'll have rebellions from the Covenant, schisms within the UNSC. And what if there are more Flood out there, or something even worse?" he lectured the Admiral.

"We can cope with a few rebellions. Few humans will go against our regime once they realise the benefits. And if we study Forerunner technology on the Halos, Captain, then we'll have more than enough power to wipe out the Flood, or anything else that dares stand in our way!"

There was silence; Graham couldn't think of a suitable answer. Worryingly, Eden's plan actually made sense. Was it really so bad for humanity to rule?

Graham shook his head, clearing the ethically wrong haze around his head. Every species should have the chance to forge it's own future.

Suddenly, a shrill, artificial voice broke through the quiet.

"Calamity! This vessel's crew have been eradicated Reclaimer, what is the problem?"

343 Guilty Spark descended from one of the room's ventilation shafts, looking around the bridge in confusedness. It noted Eden, who was frozen with shock.

"Oh, hello," Spark said courteously to Eden, and then looked down at the Captain, tied to the chair with rope. "Reclaimer, why are you bonded in this primitive material?"

Eden leapt towards Graham, securing a thick arm around his neck and pointing a gun at his temple.

"Do anything, and the Captain dies," Eden threatened Guilty Spark, who's blue light had grown large with surprise.

"Oh dear. What's going on?" Spark demanded, with all the firmness a machine who sounded like a chipmunk on helium could muster. Eden was sweating, tightening his grip around Graham's neck so much that he could hardly breathe.

"Containment of the Covenant meddlers," Eden said slowly. "They've been revealed to be working with the Flood, we're about to stop them."

He was telling Spark a lie! Would the Forerunner AI believe it? Knowing how gullible Spark was, then probably. Graham tried to speak, but his neck was being crushed so much that he felt as if he was going to pass out.

"I see. And why have you pointed a gun at Reclaimer Daniels' head, pray tell?" Guilty Spark pushed, his light darkening.

"He's being controlled from a distance by the Gravemind. It's lucky I was here to stop him, he would have killed us all."

_What?_ How on Earth could Eden tell a tall tale like that so convincingly, and without any rehearsal? Devious bastard.

"Well that is very odd. Your ODST comrades outside told me otherwise before they died," Spark revealed, light turning a dangerous red. Eden's eyes widened with fear as he realised his ruse had failed. Before he could jump out of the way, 343 Guilty Spark fired a kinetic shot, throwing Eden against the wall on the other side of the room.

"We must hurry Reclaimer, or the Flood will consume all!" Spark then began to cut the ropes binding Graham to the chair with a concentrated laser beam. The feel of the ropes breaking away was accompanied by the smell of burning flesh.

The Captain stood up, and yet somehow, Eden had recovered from the heavy impact he'd suffered. He was stood, battered, but not beaten. He was staring down the sights of his magnum. He fired one shot, which hit Guilty Spark in it's unshielded chassis. The light of the AI dimmed, and it fell to the floor with a clink, deactivated.

"Eden, drop your gun. Redeem yourself," Graham informed the Admiral, who was wild-eyed.

"No! Stay where you are, or I'll shoot!" Eden shrieked, hand quivering. His voice rose and fell as he talked.

"You say you're goal is to save humanity Eden, but just how many humans have died as a result of your actions? Hundreds? Thousands? If we continue down this path, we'll lose, and billions will die. Surrender, now, and I'll make sure you receive psychological help."

Eden's lower lip trembled, and tears ran freely from his eyes. Graham decided now was as good a time as any. He rushed the distracted Admiral, and grappled with his gun hand, trying to disarm him. Eden panicked, and squeezed the trigger of the magnum.

One, fatal round tore through the Captain's uniform, staining the area around it with crimson blood. Graham looked down at his stomach with horror, groping at the bullet wound with shaking hands. They came away sticky with dark red blood. He could already feel his stomach acids eating away at his internal organs.

Graham fell to his knees, and looked up at Eden. The Admiral's attention was upon him however, it was affixed on a comet outside, hurtling towards the _Galapagos._

No, not a comet; a _Flood dispersal pod_.

The pod smashed through the weak shields and exposed hull of the UNSC _Galapagos_, coming to a stop in the cargo hold. Flood poured out, eager to consume and control.


	41. Chapter 41

**Part 41 - Death is not the end**

The Flood infection form looked curiously at the body lying before it. It sent a query to the central mind, which quickly verified that the body was dead. Most likely killed by one of the Descendants' primitive weapons, a clean shot at close range.

The infector crawled on top of the corpse, removing the helmet with two gentle tentacles. It peered down at the face. Male. He looked old, although Descendant ages were always hard to tell, as it had been with their Creator Ancestors. Hairs of grey flecked his beard and hair. The body's eyes were closed, a smile playing about his mouth.

All this meant little to the infector. Bringing out two razor sharp limbs, it placed them both on the kevlar vest of the corpse, noting the hole which had been punched straight through it. Composing itself, the infector cut away the vest, leaving nothing but a thin Descendant uniform covering the body. Rows of shiny metals were placed in alignment across the body's chest. Results of a query sent informed it that they were called 'medals'. Further queries showed that these particular medals indicated that the man in life had been a prestigious soldier.

Perfect.

Morphing the tips of its limbs into dagger sharp knives, the infector sank two limbs into the Descendant's dead body, soon coming across the heart. It seemed remarkably healthy considering the man's age, but it was quite dead.

The infector soon came across the reason for the Descendant's death. A bullet had punched through both lungs, rendering it so the possessor of said lungs couldn't breathe. Medical records showed that this was not a pleasant way to die.

And so the first thing the infector did was repair the punctured tissue of the lungs, filling the holes with tough Flood biomass. The lungs inflated with a large dose of pure oxygen the infector injected into them. But that wasn't enough. The body was still dead.

Wrapping its limbs around the heart of the corpse, the infector began procedures to start it again, injecting a special chemical naturally produced by the infection form.

After a minute or so, the infector felt a pulse come from the body, as the heart began to kick. The body jumped as the infector jolted the body with an electrical charge, designed to shock it into action.

Heart rate was steady, and brain activity was normal. The body was alive -- unconscious, but alive.

Taking precautionary measures, the infector deadened the arms and limbs of the resurrected Descendant, and now dipped into the body a third tentacle, through which the Flood super cells could be injected into the body. These would infect it.

Losing itself in the procedure, the infector released the super cells inside the blood stream of the Descendant. The cells began to latch on to the natural ones of the Descendant, and...

Nothing.

That was strange. The body's cells should have been hijacked by the stronger Flood ones. Instead, the super cells were transmitting a failure signal to the infector, citing that the DNA was too erratic.

It had to be an error. The Descendants were difficult to infect, but never before had an attempt to infect one resulted in the unthinkable -- failure!

Trying again, the infector released another shot of super cells into the Descendant's blood stream, but the same situation occurred. This was wrong.

Rather than a mere query, this time the infector chose to contact the core mind directly. The Gravemind soon appeared in the infector's consciousness, imposing and vast.

_Is there a problem?_ The mind questioned telepathically, sounding angry.

The infector relayed the situation, which intrigued the Gravemind.

_You must be making a mistake. I shall assume direct control and see for myself._

The infector felt its own consciousness get pushed to the back of its mind as the Gravemind possessed it.

The Gravemind, through the infector's form attempted to infect the body before it, which was beginning to stir. Once again, despite the Mind's presence, the Flood super cells failed to work as intended, this time actually being devoured by the body's primitive defences.

The Gravemind drew back from the Descendant's body, looking curiously into his eyes, which were beginning to open. The Descendant's eyes were unfocused for a few moments, before becoming affixed onto the infector.

The Descendant swore, seizing the infector's body roughly with his two arms. The anaesthetic had worn off.

_You are an anomaly. How is it that you resist?_ the Gravemind questioned, speaking into the Descendant's mind. The infector stared helplessly through its eyes, unable to control its body.

The now standing Descendant drew out a knife from it's belt, driving the infector's body into the nearby wall with one hand. The Gravemind simply stared, impassive and uncaring.

_How?_ it demanded.

"I really have no idea," the Descendant replied, before driving his knife into the weak body of the infector. The Mind fled the body, leaving the infector in control again. It squealed, raising its tentacles pathetically.

The Descendant slashed his knife across the infection form's neck, ending its pitiful life.

Suddenly, the Gravemind's thunderous voice roared across the ship.

"Kill the anomaly! That is a priority order!" It rumbled to its minions.

Chief Petty Officer Franklin Mendez bent down, and picked up his weapon, popping a magazine and loading a fresh one. Let the bastards come.

********

CODENAME: SURGEON opened the wooden gate leading up to the small house in the centre of the Cole farm. A Border Colley, tethered up, began barking at him.

Slowly, with both excitement and doubt, the Surgeon moved to the front door, which was wooden. Wooden doors proved just how out of touch from the rest of the Galaxy this small colony was. It only had a population of a few thousand. No wonder the Covenant had decided to just leave it alone.

Taking in a deep breath, and straightening his tie, dusting down his black as midnight suit, the Surgeon raised one trembling hand and knocked three times on the door.

Lights came on upstairs, and inside the Surgeon could hear a few other dogs barking. There were footsteps inside the house, followed by a harsh scolding of the noisy mutts. The Surgeon had heard that reprimanding voice dozens of times when researching Cole. He had the right place!

"I told you last week, I'm not interested in your god damn retirement home!" an old, gnarled voice called from the other side of the door, before promptly wheezing.

The Surgeon found he couldn't speak. His mouth had dried up, and no sounds would escape his throat. Nervously, he coughed, and replied.

"I'm not here about that sir. Can you open the door please?"

There was grumbling from the man on the inside, but soon enough the Surgeon heard the sound of locks being unlocked and bolts being removed. The door opened.

What the Surgeon saw was quite shocking. The man standing before him was Cole, no doubt about that. Surgeon had seen his face far too many times to have any doubts about that.

However, Cole didn't look anything like he once had. He was dressed in a dressing gown, maroon, which looked as if it hadn't been cleaned for months. His hair had begun to fall out, his eyes sunken into their sockets. In his hand was a half empty bottle of red wine, so early in the morning too. He wore a wedding ring on his right hand, which implied that the Surgeon was right, and that he _had_ been reunited with his Insurrectionist wife. His beard, which had once been mostly black tinged with grey, was now mostly grey tinged with white. Obviously, Cole didn't take very good care of himself. Then again, he looked to be quite physically fit for his age.

"What do you want?" Preston Cole demanded suspiciously. Then a look of cunning crept into his eyes. "Wait, no, I can guess. You're dressed smartly, so you're not another farmer looking to lean on me for the winter. However, from the look of you it's clear that you don't live on this planet, you're obviously a city guy. You look to be in your forties, maybe in your fifties, and you have an air of confidence about you. That implies that whatever the organisation you work for is, you rank high in it. Not from the retirement home, as we already cleared up. Damn bastards there piss me off. You don't seem to be a debt collector, you're not intimidating enough."

Cole paused for breath, putting his hands behind his back as he peered at the Surgeon.

"No, I reckon you're a government worker of some kind. Police? I doubt it, the investigators here dress casually so they don't look imposing. You could be a court official, but your suit is too dark for that. It's likely you're military, since I can see an official looking stamp on the papers hanging out of your coat pocket. Definitely not directly associated with the UNSC, I can tell if a man is a soldier or swabbie. Intelligence, probably. Not one of the lower, private firms. No, you have the look of an Office of Naval Intelligence man about you. Section I is unlikely. Section II don't do this sort of thing. That leaves Section III as a possibility, but then the files would be available for the UNSC to view openly by an officer with enough clearance. ONI probably doesn't want people to know I'm still alive yet. It could cause dissent. And so, the only logical explanation is that you're Section Zero, which means that you don't officially exist. You probably have a codename of some sort."

The Surgeon was at a loss for words. He knew that Cole was intelligent, but hadn't prepared himself for just how preceptive his was. Cole was nearly as good as him. Nearly.

"That's incredible sir, but I would have told you anyway."

Cole's eyebrows rose.

"Really? That's an uncommon trait in a Spook. It's all irrelevant anyway, I'm not interested in whatever you might offer. I'm done with your world."

Before the Surgeon could get another word in, the door was slammed in his face.

******

"I hate these corridors. I always intended to make to make them wider," the Arbiter muttered, taking point alongside the Master Chief, who nodded absently.

The distraction seemed to have worked. The strike team had encountered practically no resistance inside the back area of the expansive, crystalline Citadel. There had been that one squad of five Tank forms, but they'd been swiftly and easily taken care of by the Spartans. The Brutes and Elites hadn't even been needed in that small conflict.

"Bit of a cold place to live Arbiter," Kelly muttered, staring at her MJOLNIR armour reflected in the polished crystal.

"Perhaps, but you must admit, it is beautiful isn't it?" Thel replied.

"It has it's flaws," came the retort of Kelly, who was pointing at an ugly welt of biomass in one of the corners of the ceiling. Thel grew sombre, his shoulders rising and falling as he gave a sigh. Uncertainly, John patted him on the shoulder in what he hoped was a consoling action. He assumed that was what people did when their friends were upset. Spartans didn't get upset. They just got pissed off.

"Stay alert," John ordered, rounding another, generic corner into another, generic corridor. He sighed.

"Are we going to right way?" he demanded of Fred, who was supposed to be navigating a course through the Citadel to the heart.

"Looks like it. Pretty quiet in here sir," Fred answered, striding forward slightly. "I was hoping we'd get to see some action."

"There's plenty of that to come Fred. Be patient," Linda reprimanded in a serene tone, smacking the barrel of her modified sniper against her palm. Fred laughed.

"I'm patient enough Linda. Remember that time I beat you in a staring contest?"

"That was over thirty years ago Fred."

"Yeah, well it still--"

Fred has just rounded the corner, ahead of the rest of the party when a beam rifle smashed against his weakly shielded visor. He was thrown against the sharp protruding daggers of crystal poking out of the wall. He drew away from the wall with a grunt, blood staining the pointed ends of the crystal, only to be hit by another rifle shot. Fred collapsed to the ground, bleeding profusely.

The sniper didn't get a third shot in. With stone cold efficiency, Linda spun from cover, and shot the Flood sniper with her own rifle. The Flood form's head detached from the shoulders, and the creature tumbled over the balcony it had been perched on to the floor below.

Kelly had already run over to Fred, who was groaning. John bent down, and, making sure his own back was covering the downed Spartan, removed Fred's helmet. He had a wild look in his eyes.

"Bastard shot me. Didn't even give me a chance to fight back," he rambled, blood oozing from his mouth with a sickening gurgle. John looked sideways at Linda, who shook her head.

"It doesn't look good," she said, her voice betraying the slightest hint of emotion. Fred had fallen unconscious. Suddenly, John felt himself shoved away from Fred by one of the Brute Stalkers.

"What the hell are you doing?" John demanded of the Brute, who was unstrapping Fred's armour. The Brute looked up, staring at John with, surprisingly, intelligence.

"I served as medic for my clan for over fifteen cycles, or years to you. I shall see what I can do," the Brute explained, ripping open Fred's underlying vest with his dagger sharp claw. The flesh underneath was mangled and bloody.

"He was lucky with the first shot, it was stopped by the helmet. However, the second shot went clean through his heart," the Brute medic informed the strike team sombrely, and John felt his blood go cold. His _heart_? Fred was as good as dead. John stared sadly at the shallow breathing body of his friend Fred, before frowning.

"His heart? It's the right side of his chest that's been hit!" John exclaimed, and the Brute nodded.

"Yes, the right side. That is where human hearts are located, am I right?" the Brute insisted confidently. John felt himself flow with relief and anger.

"You idiot! His heart is on the left side!" he snapped at the Jiralhanae medic, who's eyebrows rose.

"Truly? How curious. Next you'll be telling me humans don't have three lungs," the Brute chuckled. John remained stony faced.

"Enough of that, can you help Fred?" he asked, patience at an end. The Brute nodded slowly.

"Certainly, if his heart isn't damaged." The alien medic then spat into Fred's open chest wound; a great, purple slimy saliva. "Jiralhanae enzymes contain tissue repairing chemicals. An evolution which came about after millennia of feuding," the Jiralhanae explained when John looked at him incredulously.

The Brute medic worked quickly and efficiently, surprisingly nimble with his thick, sausage like hands. After about twenty minutes of work, the only evidence that Fred had ever been injured was in the form of a small, thread-thin line snaking from his neck down to his hip.

"We'll give him ten minutes, then I'll use some smelling salts to wake him up. If we're lucky, he should be okay to fight," the Brute medic finished, standing up with a smile on his face.

John patted the alien primate on the back lightly, although it felt even stranger than when he'd first had to work with the Arbiter. Brutes, working with humans? Insane.

"You did good...?" John trailed off, not knowing the Brute's name.

"Galenus," the medic finished.

"Thanks Galenus. I owe you one," John finished, shaking Galenus' shaggy, furry hand. It felt surprisingly soft.

"I was just doing my job, Chieftain. Tell us when we are ready to move out." Galenus moved over to his Brute friend, who immediately began speaking to him.

"Did that Brute just call you Chieftain?" the Arbiter asked curiously, eyebrows risen.

"Yeah, I think so," John replied, slightly confused.

"That's a sign of great respect amongst the Jiralhanae. If one calls you by that title, then it means they are completely loyal to you."

"I don't need them to be loyal, I just need them to fight," John muttered, suddenly embarrassed.

It actually turned out that the smelling salts weren't needed, as Fred woke up on his own accord after five minutes, with a headache.

"Could you not have just let me die sir? It would have surely been better than this," the recovered Spartan groaned, rubbing his head.

"There's plenty of time for you to die later Fred. For now, we have a job to do," John replied, thrusting a shotgun into Fred's hands.

"And don't I know it Master Chief."

John called for the team to assemble, and pointed down the corridor where the Flood sniper had ambushed Fred.

"They had a lookout positioned there, so we must be going to right way. Let's move out soldiers, every moment we waste is a moment closer to defeat; that Gravemind won't kill itself."


	42. Chapter 42

**Part 42 - Here be Monsters...**

CPO Mendez fired a heavy round from his shotgun, which embedded itself firmly in the chest of a startled Flood form. He finished off the creature with a quick slice of his knife.

"Pinnacle of evolution _my ass_," Mendez growled at the corpse, hacking it into small pieces so one of those infernal infection forms wouldn't reanimate it.

A serious, and rather disturbing question presented itself to Franklin Mendez. How the hell was he alive? He'd died, he was sure of that. He'd felt the pistol round fired by the treacherous Eden smash into his chest. Attempts to draw in air after that had been futile, it had been horrible. They said dying was a largely painless thing, but Mendez knew otherwise.

Obviously, the Flood form he'd found on his chest as he'd awoken had tried to assimilate him. It had certainly reanimated him, but for some reason had been unable to infect him. Maybe it was something to do with the fact he was a Spartan I? Were Spartan IIs immune as well? No, Mendez remembered John telling him how he'd nearly been infected on the first Halo ring, and how only the quick thinking of Cortana had saved him.

Only the first generation of Spartans then. It must have been one of the drugs that they hadn't used in any of the other projects. If so, then it was hardly a cure to the Flood. Out of the hundreds of SI candidates, only a couple had survived. And even they'd had to have a very specific genetic structure.

He'd let Doctor Halsey figure it out later. Mendez hoped she was safe back in England with the 105th squad left to guard her. The ODST Captain of that group had seemed a very skilled man, he'd saved Mendez from a Flood swarm at one point. What had his name been? Buck? It was hard to remember. Maybe that was a side effect from his reanimation. Troubling.

Mendez shook these worrying thoughts from his head, there was plenty of time for scientific analysis later. Right now, Captain Daniels was in trouble. Deep trouble, if Eden was with him. Deeper, if the Flood were.

He rounded a corner, grabbing a sealed pressure suit from its slightly crooked rack. Mendez gave it a quick once over, to check for any possible breaches. He'd heard far too many stories of young upstarts jumping out into vacuum without an adequately sealed suit on. The results of doing that were nasty.

The ship's interior was too hot. The lights were out, oxygen levels were shallow, Flood were roaming the dark, unstable corridors, and Mendez could swear he'd seen a tentacle in a vent at one point. Probably one of the Proto-Minds talked about in the pre-battle brief.

There was no other option; he'd have to tread vacuum to get to the Captain. Damn, he hadn't done a Zero-G walk in years.

Mendez drew out a packet of C-4 from his utility belt, and jammed it onto the ship's wall. It had already had its outer hull lowered when for some reason the entire crew had been flushed out into space. The explosives would tear through the inner hull with ease.

The Chief Petty Officer activated his Personal Bubble Shield, feeling the orb cover his entire person. He then pressed the detonator, and the explosives did their job. A man-sized hole was torn in the ship's hull, and what remaining oxygen there was in the quadrant of the ship was sucked out into the dark void. Mendez activated the magnetic clips on his pressure suit's boots, which weren't very strong, and took a step into the great beyond...

...And nearly fell over. With a startled cry, Mendez grabbed onto a ridge sticking out from the hull of the ship, hyperventilating. He forced himself to calm down, righting himself. A fall in space could be fatal; if he drifted off he might never be seen again. Or worse, he might impact against the superheated energy shields above the hull.

The Captain's office was on the other side of the ship, Mendez knew. He could see the shield shimmering above the ship, deflecting projectiles thrown its way with ease. He could see Sangheilios below, ravaged and sickly.

The Elites and Covenant were being massacred by the Flood, who'd nearly surrounded them. Meanwhile, the human ships were just hanging back, being largely ignored and not firing. Eden must have done something.

After a few minutes of spacewalking, Mendez came across something wonderful. An Elite Ranger pack, floating just above him. It must have been flushed out into space with the crew.

He tried to reach it from where he stood, but it was no good. Too high. There was only one option, but it was madness. Mendez could jump for it. If he missed the pack though, he'd sail past it, eventually being burnt to death in the energy shields. Every action has an opposite reaction. All UNSC personnel had Newton's laws drilled into them from day one.

Playing it safe was the sensible option, but then every second Mendez wasted, the Flood gained a little bit more over the Elites and Covenant. Speed was essential in this situation, and to do that, Mendez would need that Jetpack.

"Ah, to hell with it. I've died before, it didn't hurt that much," Mendez muttered to himself, lining himself up with the pack. Missing the Ranger pack by even a few degrees would be mortal.

Knowing that the longer he waited, the less likely it was he'd do the act, Mendez pushed off from the hull, and found himself rising upwards. The pack grew closer, and yet so did the shields.

At the last possible moment, Mendez lashed out with his hands, grasping the straps on the Elite Jetpack. He had it! But the energy shield was still drawing closer, as Mendez rose further still.

"Crap," Mendez swore as he fumbled with the buttons on the pack. What if there had been a breach in the pack? What if all the fuel was gone? What if it was faulty? What if--

Suddenly, the pack ignited, throwing Mendez through space and smashing him into the ship's hull. Mendez let out a sigh of relief as he deactivated the Jetpack, breathing heavily.

_You'd better watch out Eden, I'm coming for you,_ Mendez thought to himself with a smile as he secured the Ranger Jetpack around his shoulders.

********

"Admiral Cole!" Surgeon shouted, banging a heavy fist on the door. "Admiral Cole!"

Suddenly, the door swung open again, and the Surgeon found himself staring down at the barrel of an eight-gauge shotgun. His breath caught in his throat.

"Don't _ever_ call me that. I'm not an Admiral. Leave, there's no-one for you here," the grizzled old man holding the weapon growled at him. The Surgeon held his hands out soothingly.

"Please sir, let me explain the situation to you first. I wouldn't have come unless it was urgent," the ONI Investigator informed Cole, who frowned in puzzlement.

"Urgent? The Covenant's beaten. Are you telling me the UNSC can't deal with a few disgruntled Elites? That's a situation that doesn't require force, it requires diplomacy," the ex-Admiral replied, and the Surgeon realised just how out of touch he was.

"When was the last time you got news on this colony Cole?"

There was silence as the old war hero mulled the query over, scratching his scraggly beard in thought.

"About three months ago, when the last shipment of feed came in. Why?"

The Surgeon groaned, before proceeding to tell Cole about everything that had happened recently. How the Elites had begun to attack humanity again, how they'd both been on even playing fields. Then about the return of the Master Chief, who found other Spartans too. The Surgeon relayed how the Flood had infected Sangheilios, and how the planet had been a battleground ever since. And how, right now, the UNSC needed Admiral Cole's expertise. He then filled in many questions that the Admiral had, including "What the hell are the Flood?"

Admiral Cole stood in the doorway of his house, shotgun hanging loosely by his side and jaw agape. He then nodded, throwing the gun to the ground.

"I see. And what makes you think I'll help, Surgeon? I abandoned humanity when they needed me most. Aren't you even curious as to why?" Cole demanded, dragging the ONI officer inside his house and shutting the door behind him. The farmhouse was a bit of a wreck. The place stunk of alcohol and cigarette smoke. The floor and walls were dirty, and the Surgeon could see a chicken roaming around the living room, pecking at crumbs on the carpet.

"I have theories sir, but I would like to know something. Millions -- billions of people died because _you_ disappeared Cole. How does that make you feel?"

Cole leaned against the staircase banister, the old, rotting wood creaking under his weight. He lit a cigarette with a shaking hand, closing his eyes.

"Terrible. I know I'm a coward, you don't need to tell me that. But in all honesty Surgeon, I was afraid. The Covenant were gaining on us, and eventually I wouldn't have had any ships left to go on my suicide runs. I was a broken man. Suffering from depression. I didn't tell anyone about it, but it was true. If I'd carried on the way I had been, I would have ended it all eventually. Then what would the galaxy have been left with? Not with the image of a legend going out with a bang, taking an Armada with him, but with the sad depiction of the only man willing to directly fight the Covenant, beaten and broken. I'm not making excuses, but I had reasons spook."

"You're forgiven Cole. Totally and utterly. You can atone for what you did in the past; become a Hero once again. If the UNSC knows Admiral Cole is fighting with them, then hell, we might stand a chance against the Flood after all. The Covenant and Elites fear you too, they'd be more inclined to listen to humanity with you on our side. Please; I'm begging you. Help us in our darkest hour," the Surgeon pleaded desperately.

There was silence for a few moments, in which Cole buried his face in his hands, breathing deeply. Finally, he looked back up at the Surgeon with moist eyes.

"I need to think this through. Go wait in the living room, please. I could be a while."

The living legend then turned away, tightening his grubby dressing gown a little bit, his slippers flopping pathetically as Cole trudged up the stairs, stooping and mumbling to himself.

_Can this beaten shell of a man actually do anything to help us?_ The Surgeon wondered to himself, shaking his head doubtfully. Still, he complied with Cole's wishes, and went to sit in the living room, lifting disgruntled chicken off a chair so he could ease into it.

********

Eden swore rather vulgarly, before staring down at the bleeding Captain at his feet with a little sympathy.

"We're leaving this ship, Captain. I'll upload fleet control to my PDA, don't you worry. Perhaps if we're fast enough, we might be able to stop you bleeding out. This should help."

The Admiral opened a medical cache, fumbling around inside. He came back towards Graham with a canister of biofoam and a syringe full of what looked to be pure adrenaline. After firmly telling the blurry eyed Captain to hold still, he injected him with the wound-sealing foam and then jabbed his arm with the adrenaline shot. Slowly but surely, Graham felt himself returning from the brink of death. He coughed.

"Why the hell did you do that?" he demanded, breathing slowly. Eden looked down at him.

"Because you're human. Don't try anything funny Captain, I may have saved you, but I wouldn't hesitate for a moment before shooting you in the head."

Graham rose to his feet, and weighted up the situation. Eden was armed, alert and dangerous. Graham was none of those things. He decided to go along with Eden's plan -- for now.

"What do we do about the Flood?" Graham asked the Admiral, who was preparing the Captain's lifeboat. Eden shrugged.

"Let them take the ship, we'll blow it up soon."

"I meant the ones fighting the Elites and Covenant," Graham reworded his concern coldly. Eden smiled satanically.

"I'd give them medals if I thought they wouldn't eat them. They're doing an awfully good job on the Covenant aren't they?"

The Captain shook his head in disbelief.

"Admiral, people are dying out there. They may be alien, but they're sentient. Unlock the fleet, now." He attempted to reason with the crazed Eden.

"I'm afraid I can't do that friend. Not yet anyway. Not until the Elites and Covenant are destroyed. Just work with me now. Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky! I might stumble for a second. Then it'll be your moment. But until then, it's mine."

Graham sighed, but decided that as conceited as he was, Eden was right. He began preparing the lifeboat alongside the Admiral, taking provisions from the racks on the wall, and throwing them in the pod.

The screams outside were getting louder, as the Flood drew closer. They knew what their target was. The command console of the _Galapagos._ Graham's heart constricted as if a hand had tightened its fist upon it; those shrieks were unnatural. Did the infected Flood's host still live whilst the infection form controlled the body? Trapped inside its mind, unable to do anything but watched as its body committed atrocities? The Captain shuddered.

"I take it you won't give me a gun," Graham said to Eden. It wasn't a question, rather a state of fact.

"Of course I won't. If you want to live, stay behind me. Help me activate this mech unit Captain," the Admiral instructed, pointing to a dormant mechanical humanoid resting in its storage pod. The being was controlled by a dumb Artificial Intelligence -- it could fight, but not as efficiently as a human could. Neither was it particularly mobile either.

Still, it would have to do. Graham unsealed the storage pod, keying in the code which would activate the mech unit. He stole a glance at Eden. Could he possibly program the robotic fighter to target the Admiral?

"Don't bother Captain, I know what you're thinking," Eden shouted over without even bothering to turn around. "That machine is completely under my control, and its gun won't work in human hands. Just set it up near the door."

Crestfallen, the Captain nodded, lifting up the mech and placing it in a position of light cover, behind a small crate. It flexed its robotic arms, the light on its lens coming to life.

"Done," he called over to Eden, who nodded, before pointing a gun at Graham's face.

"Good. Now, get in the pod. We're leaving in a few seconds."

"Where are we going?"

"The surface. I can watch the battle from cameras I installed in the UNSC ships. Once I know the aliens are dead, I'll activate the human ships, who'll wipe out the parasitic bastards," Eden explained, matter-of-factly.

"I detect a slight flaw in your plan Eden," Graham replied.

"Oh?"

"What if we can't beat the Flood on our own?"

A look of uncertainty flashed across Eden's confident face for a second, before being replaced by a smug look.

"Don't be ridiculous Captain. We're more than a match for those mindless animals. The Master Chief's due to destroy the Gravemind soon anyway, which will make them pushovers for the fleet."

Graham decided not to fight a lost cause -- Eden was totally and utterly convinced that the UNSC could beat the Flood on their own. Graham was not so confident.

He began to move towards the pod, when suddenly he heard a noise. A loud bang on the roof. Eden's eyes widened.

"The Flood are on the hull!" he exclaimed silently, looking towards the ceiling.

Eden seemed distracted. It was now or never. He slowly crept up behind the absent Admiral, preparing to strangle the bastard from behind. Suddenly, Eden whirled around with lightning quick instincts and shot Graham in the foot, who collapsed instantly in agony.

"Not your moment Captain," Eden said calmly, before raising his gun again, pointing it with determination at Graham's heart. "I see you're going to be too much trouble to live in the new galaxy. Goodbye, Captain."

There was further rustling from above the hull, and it sounded as if someone had entered through the airlock. Footsteps echoed across the ceiling.

Eden's finger pulled lightly down on the trigger, and Graham saw the world grow slowly. This was it. The end. The Admiral had won.

A shot was fired.

*******

_Sangheilios surface, outside the Citadel of Vadam._

"Release the Sharquoi!" Daedalus boomed grandiosely, grinning openly. He looked at the gigantic energy cage behind him; twenty feet tall with a fifteen feet creature trapped inside.

The Flood opposing his forces were hanging back, observing the gargantuan beast inside the cage nervously. The Sharquoi race were a strange thing. Discovered long ago by the Covenant on a long abandoned Forerunner world, the dangerous monsters had apparently been created by the ancient race as a means to fight the Flood. Judging by the apprehensive look on the Parasites' collective faces, it seemed that they remembered them well.

It towered over even Daedalus, who was considered a giant amongst many. Its long teeth, littering the inside of the Sharquoi's jaw were each the size of an Jackal's arm, just twice as wide. Their elongated eyes were tapered and full to the brim with murderous intent, blood shot and large. Spines littered the back of their matt grey coats, tapered and long. Its muscular stomach was protected with a heavy coat of scales, each strong enough to resist the strike of a plasma blade. Their powerful legs bent at the knees, before ending with two powerful, clawed feet.

And most incredibly, they could breathe super heated plasma. None in the Covenant were exactly sure how, but apparently they naturally produced chemicals in a unique organ which could create a superheated flame of plasma without scalding the leather insides of the Sharquoi.

And yet for all this, they still possessed an elegance about them which was so like the Forerunners. The perfect weapon to fight the Flood.

The only two problems were that they were incredibly stupid, and few in number. This one was the last of its kind. The rest of the Sharquoi had been wiped out along with High Charity.

The caged Sharquoi would no doubt be pleased to fight the foe it had been designed to fight. And if it fell fighting, then it would die happy.

No less than seven Engineers lifted the door of the cage, wrapping their tendrils around the plasma bars without suffering so much as a small singe. The pulsed in harmony, and a few seconds later the cage's door vanished, unleashing the raging Sharquoi upon the world. It darted out onto the plain, sniffing the air. Immediately, the terrified Flood soldiers opened fire upon it, yet both bullets and plasma burns bounced off its tough hide.

The Sharquoi's eyes affixed upon the Parasite army attacking it, and narrowed. It bellowed out a murderous cry, spewing plasma into the air, incinerating the floating Flood spores occupying the space. The Flood soldiers faltered slightly, inadvertently taking a step back.

_Strange that these Flood feel fear. Perhaps it came with their evolution,_ Daedalus mused, stroking his great white beard thoughtfully as the Sharquoi lumbered towards the crowd of parasitic enemies, scattering them with its huge limbs and barbed tail. Many fell to its attack.

"Wondrous is it not? I pity any fool who has to fight a Sharquoi," the Chieftain of the Brutes boasted to the human Colonel standing next to him, who was looking at the decimating Sharquoi with a kind of melancholia.

"I led a platoon once in the war with the Covenant. Over one hundred men and women, most of them with families back home. All of them elite soldiers, the best of the best. One of those creatures ambushed us. Only three of us survived its attack. We managed to finally kill it by rolling a boulder on it, and even then it still thrashed around for ten minutes," Colonel Miles stated emptily, staring out with horror at the Sharquoi. Daedalus swore inwardly, and grimaced.

"My apologies Colonel, I should have realised. Fear not, this one fights for our cause."

Miles shook his head darkly, eyes burning a hole into the Chieftain's mind. He turned away.

"Does it really? To me it looks like it has no choice; as if it's a slave. I'm going to organise my soldiers. You just keep your Dragon away from us Brute," the Colonel muttered, stalking away. Daedalus stared after him, blinking.

_What's a Dragon?_

******

Codename: SURGEON heard footsteps descending down the stairs, and rose out of his chair with both excitement and dread. Cole had obviously finished mulling his plea over. What would his reply be?

The man who walked into the living room, straight backed and confident nearly made Surgeon's jaw drop.

Was that really the man who had just minutes before stood pathetically in his bathrobe and slippers, with a beard and smell that looked like they hadn't be attended to in weeks?

Admiral Cole was dressed in finely pressed Admiralty uniform, an impossibly long row of medals pinned along his chest. His belt buckle shined, every button on his shirt gleamed. The grey uniform he wore seemed like new, and fit around his figure as if he had been born wearing it. Affixed to his short, trimmed grey hair was a cap, which hadn't lost its shape at all. Even his boots had been polished.

His previously long and shaggy beard had been trimmed to a short stubble, neat and tidy. His eyes were no longer sunken and depressed, but were instead sharp and possessed an air of command about them. His previously long, dirty fingernails had been rounded down to small, neat tips.

"Admiral Cole sir!" the ONI Investigator had a sudden urge to salute, and quickly snapped to attention, looking with awe at the man before him who looked every part the legend. The Flood were doomed.

"At ease." Even Cole's voice now had a commanding tone to it. "I've decided to accept your offer Surgeon. When do we leave for Sangheilios?"

"Immediately sir! I brought with me one of the fastest slipspace traversing vessels available. If we leave now, we should arrive at the planet in less than a day," Surgeon replied, still unable to take his eyes off Cole, who nodded curtly.

"Then lead on Surgeon. We've got a war to win."


	43. Chapter 43

**Part 43 - Thrown together**

Eden frowned. He hadn't fired, he was sure of it. No, he _definitely_ would have remembered something like that. Suddenly, he felt himself break into a cold sweat. Peculiar. He looked down at the Captain with blurry eyes. Why were they blurry?

Captain Daniels was staring up at Eden, wide eyed and relieved. The Admiral opened his mouth to speak, and found he couldn't utter a sound. His hands began to shake, and unwillingly, he dropped his gun.

A strange warmth began to spread across his torso. Eden begin to feel faint, his legs felt like jelly and his mind was in a similar state. The next thing he knew, he was quivering on the ground, lying down in a red puddle. Had he spilt the wine?

He distantly heard voices, but it was as if they were calling to him from the other side of a football field. Eden suddenly felt a flash of pain, and cried out. The pain brought temporary clarity, and Eden began to have the first inkling of what had happened. With incredibly shaky hands, Eden felt the moist warmth which had spread across his entire coat. And in that moment, the Admiral realised the terrible truth.

He was bleeding. Badly. The gun shot he'd heard hadn't been his own.

Still shaking, Eden pushed himself up, forcing himself into a sitting position. When his eyes finally uncrossed, he found a long, gun barrel rammed square between his eyes. The wielder of it was someone who Eden thought dead.

"You!" he gasped, staring at Chief Petty Officer Mendez. The grizzled instructor of the Spartans nodded grimly. Eden suddenly broke out into a coughing fit, and realised that even if Mendez didn't shoot him, he was a dead man.

"Me," Mendez agreed with a fierce grin, and suddenly his finger pulled down on his weapon's trigger. Eden shut his eyes tight, but death didn't come. Instead, the click of an empty weapon sounded, echoing around the room. Mendez swore, and tossed the ammo depleted rifle he held aside, reaching for a sidearm.

Suddenly, an explosion smashed into the blast door outside, completely wrecking it. All three human heads turned to the source, and yelped in surprise as three Flood forms flew through the man-sized hole that had been created as a result of the explosion.

Mendez drew out his pistol and turned away from Eden, whose vision was starting to blur again. The grizzled CPO fired two shots, which smashed into the cavity of a Flood form where the infection form rested. The figure toppled to the ground.

The other two Flood forms carried onward, ripping the flustered mech unit to pieces as they did so. One smashed into Mendez, grappling with the abnormally strong man fiercely. Another paused before the helpless body of Eden, a gruesome smile on its hideous face as it smelt his warm, freely running blood. Eden drew a small knife from his belt, but was unable to move his arm the distance needed to swipe at the Flood form with, which was now reaching down with eager, sharp clawed hands.

Then it was slammed into the wall by an 8-gauge shotgun blast, plastering the office's interior with the disgusting biomass. Eden looked up at his saviour, and saw CPO Mendez looking down at him with disgust.

"I should kill you for what you've done. But in light of the current circumstances, that would be stupid," Mendez growled down at him, indicating the lifeboat pod, which was now aflame and crumpled, with multiple breaches in its small hull. "It seems as if their intention was to wreck our means of escape. One managed to toss a grenade in."

"There's a Longsword in the docking hangar," Eden gasped out, his voice a mere whisper. "Don't leave me here to be turned into one of _them_, please."

Mendez scowled, before signalling to the Captain, who held a full canister of biofoam and a syringe in his hands.

"You're coming with us Eden, three people have a better chance of making it out of here alive than two. But first, you're going to have to unlock the fleet. Or else we'll just leave you for the Flood to find," Mendez threatened, and Captain Daniels nodded. Eden's eyes grew wide, but he shook his head firmly.

"Never! I won't give in, not now!" he wheezed out, coughing up more blood as he did so. Mendez looked at Daniels, who shrugged.

"Let's go," he said to Mendez, and the two of them began to walk away, leaving Eden lying in his blood like a beaten dog. Eden watched them go, determined to stick to his guns. A bone chilling shriek of Flood origin suddenly sounded across the ship's hallway, bringing with it all the terrible implications. Eden broke down.

"Wait!" he shrieked, exhausting the last of his strength to call Mendez and Daniels back, who turned around with raised eyebrows. "I'll do it! Don't leave me."

Eden was sickened with his own cowardice, but then reflected that it wasn't a good idea to leave the human fleet locked down forever anyway. Eventually, the Flood would overwhelm the Elites and Covenant, and then they'd turn on the helpless UNSC. His only regret was that the alien scum would be saved.

"Give him the adrenaline shot -- not the biofoam," Mendez ordered the Captain, who nodded, despite being of a much higher rank than the CPO. With age brought command.

"This'll give you a boost," Daniels muttered, jabbing the syringe into Eden's arm and injecting the strength imbuing fluid into his blood stream. Eden felt his energy return, and his eyes began to clear. "You'll still die of blood loss in a few minutes though unless we give you the biofoam -- unlock the fleet."

Eden shakily stumbled to his feet, applying pressure to his bullet wound with a trembling hand. Slowly, he staggered towards the console, trying to remember the authorisation code for fleet control. With a sigh, he typed in the code, and after a second, the light flashed green.

"Unlock fleet," he commanded the computer system with his voice, suddenly feeling sick. The computer system acknowledged his instruction, and instantly control returned to the pilots of the UNSC ships.

"Is it done?" Captain Daniels asked, moving towards Eden.

"Yes, you treacherous bastard. See for yourself," Eden muttered bitterly, scowling. His knees suddenly buckled, and he fell to the floor. Mendez quickly injected his wound with biofoam, sealing up the bleeding flesh and saving his life.

From the observation window of the UNSC _Galapagos_, Graham could see the UNSC fleet begin to stir, as engines fired up and weapons began to reactivate. With a sudden grin, Graham activated the fleet communications systems.

"This is Captain Daniels, acting commander of the UNSC. We had an incident, but the situation is under control," he began, before being interrupted by a quick talking man with a French accent.

"Captain, this is Lieutenant Commander Dominique. What the hell happened--never mind. What are your orders?" the Lieutenant questioned Daniels, who was beginning to breathe easily.

"Cut a path through the Flood ships and save the Elites and Covenant, then retreat with them to the other side of Sangheilios. We need to reorientate the fleets, make sense of it all," Graham instructed Dominique, and the rest of the UNSC pilots.

"Affirmative sir. I can see the _Galapagos_ is in trouble. Do you wish me to dispatch a Longsword strike team to assist you?"

Graham mulled the question over for a few moments, before reaching a decision.

"Negative Commander, it's too dangerous. We have infected on board. Just be ready to receive us should we make it out alive," he commanded Dominique, who agreed.

"Will do Captain. Bonne chance." The link cut out.

Graham turned around to look at Eden, who was staring at him with pure, venomous hatred.

"Well done Captain, you beat me. Is this the part where you gloat?" he demanded sadistically, face set in a pose of utter depression.

Mendez grabbed the Admiral's shoulder roughly, shoving an MA2B into his bloodied hands.

"No Eden, this is the part where we fight our way to the Longsword," the CPO informed Eden, handing Graham a heavy Sangheili Plasma rifle. It felt like it was made of pure lead, the Captain could barely lift it. Still, it would do the job.

"You're giving me a weapon? That seems a little foolish, even I have to say," Eden exclaimed in surprise, noting that the rifle he'd been given was fully loaded.

"Well then, you won't question my wisdom when I order you to take point will you Eden? Try anything funny, and you'll regret it," Mendez let the veiled threat hang in the air.

"I understand, Chief Petty Officer," Eden replied stiffly, nervously moving in front of Graham and Mendez.

"I mean it Eden; if you so much as blink in my direction I _will_ gun you down." The veil covering the threat had been removed.

Not bothering to reply to that ominous statement, Eden turned around, lifting his head up high and sniffing disdainfully, muttering curses under his breath.

"We're going to kill him, right?" Graham whispered to Mendez, who smiled morbidly.

"Hell yeah. Eventually."

"Good. Thanks for saving my hide."

"Don't mention it. I just want to escape this hell and get back in the middle of the action," Mendez growled, his voice regaining its normal volume level. The CPO then moved to a control panel, and opened the crippled blast door, revealing the dimly lit corridor beyond which would eventually lead to the docking bay of the battered _Galapagos_.

"Get moving Eden! We're right behind you."

* * *

Imperial Admiral R'tas Vadum' had been about to self destruct the _Shadow of Intent_ when the human transmission came through.

Several members of the Sangheili and Covenant fleets had done so already, knowing how utterly hopeless the situation was. They had failed Sangheilios. And no-one wanted to be mindless slaves of the Flood.

R'tas had always held the practice of suicide in contempt, but now he was contemplating it himself. Looking back, he realised how idiotic he'd been, but still, the nearly followed through action had some amount of justice to it.

The Flood had surrounded the Sangheili and Covenant fleets in an orb of sorts. The fleets were now engaged in a last stand of sorts, but the scenario could only end in one way -- complete destruction.

They'd fought valiantly, surely enough. The fleets had managed to take down nearly a third of the parasitic scum, with minimum loss. But that didn't matter now. They were trapped by an enemy with superior numbers, and there was no possibility of them escaping.

Then the UNSC contacted the Sangheili and Covenant fleets.

"Imperial Admiral R'tas Vadum'?" an accented human voice demanded over the communications link. For a moment R'tas thought he was hallucinating. Then he realised that the other members of his crew were responding visually to the words as well, hope illuminating their previously resigned faces. Unless they were all going crazy, which R'tas doubted, this was a real message. He isolated the signal, and replied.

"I am here. Who is this?" he questioned, voice hoarse from shouting commands across both fleets. The human replied with a bit of relief in his voice.

"Lieutenant Dominique of the UNSC _Eiffel_. I'm acting under the orders of Captain Graham Daniels, Imperial Admiral. How many of you are alive in that orb?"

R'tas brought up the fleet status screen for a moment, checking the casualties. They were low, for now.

"Many of us, although we are in a rather precarious situation. Most of the ships' shield systems are near depleted, and it won't be long before the parasite completely overwhelms us. What's the situation on your end human?" the Sangheili military leader replied, his voice gathering strength.

"The UNSC fleet is fully operational Imperial Admiral. Don't ask questions, I have no idea myself what happened. Just start your engines, and be ready to hightail it out of there. We're going to cut a path through the Flood for you. _Tu comprenez?_

"Affirmative human. Thank you," R'tas replied, closing the connection and opening up a new one which would broadcast to both the Sangheili fleet and Covenant one.

"You have fought well today Warriors! The bards shall sing of our exploits for many an age! But if we remain here, we shall be as lambs for the slaughter. The humans are back in the fight, and they are going to cut a path through the Flood! Be ready to leave as soon as an opening appears!" he roared over the communications link, before commanding his own crew to ready the _Intent_. The Assault Carrier hummed as its large propulsion system warmed up.

"R'tas? What's going on?" Equanimity demanded of him, setting up a private communications channel.

"I have no idea Hierarch, really. But we've been thrown a lifeline, and we should grasp it firmly. Ready yourself," he replied.

Suddenly, almost the moment R'tas had finished his sentence, Longsword fighters flew between the gaps in the Flood blockade, a legion of them targeting and destroying the parasite fighters which were hampering the retreat. The small, black V shaped fighters were accentuated with the roar of many Mass Accelerated Cannons, which smashed into a small portion of the Flood ships. They began to break off, and were quickly finished off by Elite and Covenant pulse lasers, the ships firing them flying towards the weak point.

"Ram them!" R'tas commanded, bringing the shields of the _Intent_ up to full, diverting power from the main plasma torpedoes to the close quarter pulse turrets and shielding systems. The rest of the Covenant and Sangheili fleets did the same.

The unfortunate Flood ships who had been unlucky enough to reside in the space the hole was being made in turned around in vain as the largest Elite and Covenant ships flew towards their weakened hulls. One pitifully fired out a plasma torpedo, which hardly phased the Assault Carrier it hit. The Sangheili and Covenant wouldn't be able to keep their shields at this strength for more than five minutes, but that was all the time they needed.

The fleet flagships smashed into the fractured portion of the Flood blockade, breaking out of the cage they had been encased in. The UNSC ships on the other side were laying down covering fire for them.

"Good to see you!" Lieutenant Dominique called to R'tas over the communications systems. His voice sounded weak and strained. "Open up a slipspace portal to the other side of the planet, we'll follow you through it."

R'tas relayed the human's wishes to the Sangheili and Covenant fleets, who obeyed without question. The Flood scows had abandoned their orb-like structure, and were now turning to engage the outnumbered non-infected fleets.

They never got the chance to. The _Shadow of Intent_ fired up its FTL drive, subtly and smoothly cutting a gaping hole into slipspace. Ships from all factions flew through the portal, vanishing as they dropped into its purple and crackling vortex. Eventually, all that remained was the _Intent_ and an armada of raging Flood vessels. If ships could be smug, then the _Shadow of Intent_ certainly was as it eased into the slipspace portal it had created and winked out of sight, closing the rift in space as it did so.

Standing on his command bridge with his arms folded, Imperial Admiral R'tas Vadum' let out a deep breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. They'd survived.


	44. Chapter 44

"Huh, a Behemoth. I haven't seen one of those in years," Johnson commented to nobody in particular, having a sudden flashback to the glory days in the SI team.

"The Sharquoi you mean? They have always been scarce in number. The Covenant hold the last existing one. That must be it," Relg replied, pausing for a moment. The Light of Helios carried himself with an air of arrogance which would of annoyed Johnson, had he not known deep down that he was exactly the same. Well, not _exactly_. At least _he_ smiled every once in a while.

"It looks pretty swarmed," Johnson observed, watching the sheer amount of Flood forms congregating around the Sharquoi with plasma halberds grimly.

"Watch," Relg simply replied, chuckling in that cocky manner he always wore. Johnson cringed as the Sharquoi let out a shriek of pain as a halberd was sunk in its left leg. Enraged, the draconian creature bellowed out a jet of streaming plasma, incinerating the Flood soldiers holding the halberds into ash. With a wince, Johnson had another flashback to the glory days in the SI team.

"This presents a unique opportunity," Malkor pondered thoughtfully. This Elite was less arrogant, but somewhat annoyingly, deferred to Relg's decisions on every single occasion.

Relg looked across at his friend, and an unspoken recognition passed between them which Johnson missed.

"What?" he asked bluntly, afraid of the answer he knew he was going to receive.

"Sharquoi have been ridden in the past," Relg began tentatively. Johnson groaned.

"Forget it. There ain't no ruttin' way I am riding that Dragon," he aggressively replied, shaking his head.

"Sharquoi skin is abnormally tough. It would provide far better cover and mobility than a Wraith, Sergeant," Malkor attempted where Relg had failed.

"At least I know a Wraith won't eat me...as far as I know anyway," Johnson protested.

"Remain here if you wish human, I and my brother are proceeding to the Citadel as planned," Relg replied, smug as always. Johnson frowned, bit his lip, and finally gave in.

"Fine! We'll ride the Behemoth. Just one problem; how do you propose to climb it when it is all the way over there?" the Sergeant Major demanded, pointing at the far distance.

"That isn't much of a problem at all. Sharquoi are trained to respond to a high frequency that the Flood simply can't emulate. Sangheili, however, can," Relg answered, before opening his star shaped, armoured mandibles and whistling (if you could really call it that) at a frequency just below that of a dog whistle.

The Sharquoi's head instantly snapped up, as it turned away from the terrified Flood soldiers and looked towards the origin of the call. It swept aside the remaining Flood around its legs, and began to lumber to the spot where Relg, Malkor and Johnson stood.

"Whatever you do, don't make eye contact with it," Relg began to instruct Johnson hurriedly as the creature drew closer, "and don't even go near it until Malkor and I have assured it you are a friend."

The Sharquoi's graceful gait began to slow as it approached the three. Its sharp claws were stained with Flood biomass, which was giving off a burning smell.

"Sharquoi," Relg began respectfully, inclining his head. "We have need of your--"

The Dragon-like creature almost completely ignored the Elite when it saw Johnson, suddenly moving towards the startled Sergeant Major.

"Whoa!" Johnson cried out, aiming his DMR at the Sharquoi's head warningly. Malkor and Relg were staring at its advancement, ashen faced and immobile.

"Do not shoot human! You'll only make it angrier! Just stay very still, and try not to--" Relg was silenced once again as the Sharquoi did something completely unexpected.

Stopping before the frozen Sergeant Johnson, it dropped to one knee, bowing its head and looking the human straight in the eyes with pure respect and reverence.

"Gods above..." Malkor breathed, staring with awe at the strange sight before him. Johnson moved, and the Sharquoi's eyes followed.

"Does this usually happen?" Johnson questioned the two Sangheili, who shook their heads simultaneously.

"Never," Relg breathed, the arrogance completely vanished. "Usually, multifarious ceremonial signs of respect must be shown towards the Sharquoi, and even then it will sometimes ignore you."

"Then what gives? Why's it treating me like a god damn King?" Johnson demanded, letting his weapon drop to his side.

"Perhaps because you are human; a Reclaimer," Malkor suggested wisely. Johnson shook his head.

"Can't be. I fought one of these things before, it wasn't bowing to me then," he replied sceptically.

"Did you shoot it when you saw it?" Relg queried, an amused look on his face.

"Hell yeah. I wasn't just going to stand by and let it--"

"Well that's why then. It's survival instincts overrode its allegiance to you Reclaimers. If you hadn't shot it, then its altogether possible it would have fought alongside you," Relg finished, smug and arrogant once again.

"Interesting theology Relg, but time is ticking on," Johnson interrupted before Relg's shadow, who was known by most as Malkor, could praise the already big headed Elite for his shrewd observation. Relg nodded.

"Sharquoi, we have need of your assistance. Allow us to be ferried by your majestic form, so that we may--" the Elite gave up when he realised the creature wasn't paying him the slightest bit of attention. Relg turned with obvious reluctance to Johnson.

"Human, tell this awed Sharquoi of our plans," the Elite ordered him, which annoyed Johnson. Still, this was no time to point out that the alien lacked a UNSC rank.

"Hey, we need a ride," Johnson began bluntly. Relg and Malkor both made strangled noises as they observed how the human didn't speak with any tact or respect. "So if you don't mind, just lie down on your front and we'll hop on board."

"Blasphemous!" Malkor whispered, horrified. Relg shot him a look which clearly meant 'do not make an issue of this now.'

The Sharquoi evidently didn't care about Johnson's lack of reverence, for it sunk down on its stomach, to a height at which Johnson and the Sangheili would be able to climb aboard. The Sergeant Major eyed the sharp spikes on its back wearily.

"Where do we sit?" he wondered aloud, turning to Relg inquisitively. The Light of Helios pointed at small dents in the Sharquoi's back.

"Nestle yourself within those alcoves, and hold on to the scaly ridges surrounding them. According to ancient scripture, the divine Forerunners themselves rode these mighty creations into battle," Relg informed him, climbing onto the Sharquoi's back and positioning himself. Johnson followed suit, cutting his hand accidentally when he grasped a barbed scale at a wrong angle. He swore, before finally making himself comfortable -- to some small degree.

"I'll have to ask the Didact why his people didn't create seatbelts on these things," Johnson muttered, noticing how he was unsecured, and only able to hold on because of his grip.

"The Didact?" Malkor questioned him, sitting himself in a small alcove on Johnson's right. The Sergeant drew out a cigar from his old, worn pouch, lighting it and shoving it into his mouth. That made him feel a little more secure.

"I'll tell you later," Johnson replied to the Elite, not wanting to be on the receiving end of a volley of questions. "Relg! How do we get this thing moving?"

"Just state your intentions. It will understand what you mean, in a similar manner to the Huragok," the Elite answered him haughtily. Johnson nodded.

"All right then. Take us to the Citadel, and kill as many Flood as you can on the way...thanks." Johnson felt a little foolish talking to what he saw as an animal, but his words worked. With a sudden burst of energy, the Sharquoi rose up to its hind haunches, nearly throwing Johnson out of his 'seat'. He managed to hold on, but cut his hand even deeper in the process.

The Sharquoi began to trudge north, towards the Citadel front door. Johnson pitied any Flood soldier foolish enough to get in its way.

* * *

"So did you ever find your wife? The Insurrectionist one?" CODENAME: Surgeon asked to break the silence. The ship they were on was in slipspace, en route to Sangheilios. Cole's eyes immediately turned stony and hostile.

"That's none of your business," the legendary Admiral replied, stiff backed with his jaw set firmly.

"Sorry, I was just curious," the ONI operative replied, abashed and cautious. Cole wasn't done.

"What's your real name?" he demanded, leaning forward with an intent look in his eye. The Surgeon was completely taken aback.

"Uh...that's classified sir," he informed the Admiral, frowning slightly. Cole snorted.

"You won't even tell me your name, and you expect me to pour my life story out to you? Where's the logic in that?"

The Surgeon's ears were flaming by now, and it was his turn to scowl.

"I was just breaking the silence Admiral. Some would argue there was no logic in you vanishing and abandoning your people," he replied heatedly. Immediately he knew he'd gone too far, but didn't care. Cole stood up with a murderous glint in his eye.

"Oh, you do _not_ want to go down this route with me son," he warned, aggressively thrusting his finger into the Surgeon's face. "You don't understand what it's like to be under the pressure I was. Billions of people watching your every move, media reporting every little step you take? Receiving countless distraught letters from the mothers of those who died under my command, those I sent to their death? You may have researched into my life Surgeon, but don't for a single _second_ presume to know me."

The Surgeon had nothing to say to this other than a muttered swear word under his breath. The two men stared at each other for a few moments, and finally Surgeon buckled under Cole's iron stare. He sat down, folding his arms and staring at the floor. A few moments later, Cole did the same, letting out a long sigh.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. To answer your question, yes I did find her," Cole spoke about a minute later, voice thick with emotion.

"And?"

"We lived happily together for years. Until she died nine months ago," Cole replied, eyes b-blam!- with unshed tears. The Surgeon grimaced.

"I'm so sorry. What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"What happened? I'm 87 years old Surgeon, 88 next month. Lyra was 84 when she died. It was old age Surgeon, nothing more, nothing less. That doesn't make it any less painful though."

The Surgeon had momentarily forgotten about the Admiral's age. He'd spent a lot of his life in cryogenics though -- his wife hadn't. It must have been hard for him to see her wither and die when he himself still had the honed body of a 60 year old military man.

"You have my condolences sir, truly. I wish I'd never brought it up," he apologised sincerely. Cole shook his head, wiping his eyes resolutely.

"Forget about it Surgeon, this is no time for me to have an emotional breakdown. If the Flood are half as dangerous as you say, then I'm going to have my hands full when I arrive. What's the situation likely to be?"

This was something the Surgeon could talk about confidently. He was good with statistics and data. Not so proficient with feelings and emotions.

"Well Admiral, the Flood have superior numbers. And the being directing them is omniscient. Their firepower is equivalent or greater than ours, and they have the advantage of being on their own playing field. We do, however, have a hidden ace up our sleaves."

Cole's eyebrows rose.

"Really? And what's that?"

"You, Admiral Cole. You took out countless Covenant fleets in the Great War, and did it with inferior firepower and numbers. The Flood should be afraid," the Surgeon laughed. Cole's eyes grew wide.

"So this is all on me then? Perfect."

"I'm sure you'll do just fine. And if not, there probably won't be anyone alive to shout at you, so don't--" the Surgeon's joke was cut off as his slipspace communications pager beeped. It was a message from someone named Lieutenant Dominique.

Sir, the ONI Representative here gave me this number. Things are looking grim. Eden betrayed us; things are okay now but Captain Daniels is MIA, we don't know his situation. We managed to jump to the other side of the planet to regroup, but we lack leadership. I'm not qualified to lead the UNSC fleet sir, just a single ship. The way things are going, it looks like an Elite or Prophet will be leading us, and that will be terrible for human morale. The ONI Rep said you might have a solution. If you do, I hope to God you get here soon with whatever miracle you may have.

Regards, Lieutenant Dominique of the UNSC Navy.

The Surgeon blinked twice, re-reading the message. Cole had sensed something was wrong, and met the Surgeon's eyes inquisitively.

"What is it?" he demanded warily. Wordlessly, Surgeon passed Cole his pager with the message still displayed on it. It only took Cole a few seconds to read it, before he looked up with a grim, but determined expression.

"There's no way in hell I'm letting an alien lead humanity," Cole stated determinedly. He immediately grabbed a piece of paper from a rack and began scribbling on it, looking at the specifications of the ship's slipspace drives. The calculations he wrote down were beyond the Surgeon's comprehension.

"What are you doing?" the ONI Operative replied uncertainly. Cole didn't even look up, too absorbed in his equations and quantifications.

"I'm working out a way to make this rust bucket get to Sangheilios faster. Now be quiet, I need to concentrate."


	45. Chapter 45

**Part 45 - Some small progress**

"Everyone okay?" Mendez asked, searching the perimeter of the Longsword bay.

"Well actually--" Eden began to reply, before being silenced by an icy cold look from the CPO. The Admiral shut up quickly, eyes narrowing.

After a harrowing fight and an ingenious diversion through a tight yet mostly empty ventilation shaft, the unlikely trio had reached the Longsword bay. The dozen Flood patrolling outside had been cut off by a quickly activated blast door, and even now they were hammering on the metre thick titanium alloy to no avail. They were ready to leave this hellhole of a ship.

Captain Graham Daniels was wondering when he should deal with Eden, and how, when suddenly the inactive chassis of 343 Guilty Spark came to life. The Forerunner AI's physical body was heavier than it looked, and it certainly looked quite heavy. Still, Mendez had agreed with Graham in that they should take him with them, he could prove useful later.

Somehow, Spark had managed to recover from Eden's well placed bullet all on his own. And so now, uncertainly at first, the annoyingly chirpy AI activated its gravity defying propulsion system and rose shakily a few feet in the air.

"I feel a little out of sorts," Spark moaned. Graham stepped towards him in concern, which was a mistake.

"Captain!" Mendez roared, reaching for his rifle. But it was too late, and a moment later Graham felt cold, carbonised steel pressed against his exposed neck. He swore, knowing already what had happened.

"Eden," he stated bluntly, furious with himself for letting this happen. How many times had he been in this situation today? Mendez had his weapon aimed at the Admiral, who was laboriously breathing. Spark was still stumbling around uncertainly.

"You think I'm an idiot Captain? I know you and Mendez plan to shoot me as soon as we get on that Longsword. That's not going to happen," Eden said wildly, backing away with Graham, knife firmly pressed against his neck.

"Let him go Eden!" Mendez shouted, flicking the safety off his rifle. Eden smiled that sickly sweet smile he so often employed.

"Goodbye Chief Petty Officer. You too Spark. I'd save some ammo if I was you Mendez, to kill yourself before the Flood get their parasitic hands on you. Cheerio, old boy!" Eden dragged Graham up the Longsword ramp, managing to seal the opening shut whilst still keeping the knife in place. As soon as the door closed, Eden pushed Graham away from him, opting to threaten with a gun now rather than a knife.

"What the hell is this Eden? You're just going to abandon Mendez and Spark to the Flood?" Graham demanded, attempting to appeal to his human nature. A futile effort.

"I am. They would have shot me and left me for dead. You would have too. I should kill you really, but I won't. Despite all of what you've done, I still sort of like you Captain. You're a good leader, and humanity needs more people like you. Together we could have done beautiful things, if only you'd just been a little more patriotic and less _idiotic_. Oh well. Put out your hands," Eden replied in a casual tone, smiling even. Graham sighed, thrusting his hands out. The Admiral grabbed a set of energy manacles off a rack and fastened them to the Captain's wrists.

"What now?" Graham wondered aloud. Eden laughed, grabbing him by the scruff of his torn and dirty Naval uniform and throwing him into the small Longsword escape pod, sealing the airtight door. Eden rapped on the glass, pointing at the intercom inside.

"Well now, I'm going to leave this system. I know when I'm beaten, but trust me Captain, this isn't over. You haven't seen the last of me. Trust the Elites and Covenant if you want. Rest easy in the knowledge that I'll be around ready to pick up the pieces when all goes to hell," Eden spoke into a handheld radio, his voice emanating from the intercom.

"And me?" Graham questioned back worriedly. He didn't want to be forced to accompany Eden on his mad trip.

"You're going on a little expedition to Sangheilios' surface in that pod dear Captain. There's a fully loaded rifle in there, a sidearm, provisions, and basic shelter. You'll be fine."

"_Fine?_ We're planning on blowing the planet up!" Graham cried back, frantic. Eden shrugged.

"You'd better find a ship before that then. If you don't, then I'm sorry. Really, I am. Anyway, let's get moving."

_Maybe going with Eden would have been the better option,_ Graham sulked as the Longsword took off, and soared away from the _Galapagos_, leaving Mendez and Spark behind. Perhaps Eden would die in a freak slipspace malfunction. The Captain didn't want to get his hopes up though.

* * *

"I have a feeling we're being watched," Kelly muttered. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, and you could tell that the pace they were going at was killing her.

"We probably are. The Gravemind must have gotten a good look at us through the eyes of that sniper earlier. He knows who, and where we are," John replied confidently, peering at the numerous dark alcoves where Flood scouts could be concealed. He was always confident, even in the face of the Flood; or at least he was externally. Thel knew his true feelings about the parasite.

"Shouldn't we be worried about this?" Thel pondered, sweating slightly. The golden garbed Sangheili may be the physical equal of a Spartan, but that didn't mean he had the same amount of training or reserve. He was afraid.

"They're watching for now. They probably know we're too good for them," Fred answered, flipping his knife in the air, catching it with a deft movement after it had spun several times. Thel was still a little apprehensive of Fred, after he'd tried to kill him back on board the _Cairo_ at Earth.

All the Spartans save John intimidated him. Their faceless helmets, their unwavering confidence, and almost psychic connection they shared with each other. A far stronger bond existed between them than Thel and any of his Sangheili brothers.

Thel had also always found it strange that the humans allowed their females to fight. Indeed, two of the Spartans beside him now were so. In the Covenant, females were considered a treasure to protect and keep from harm.

And yet the human women were mighty warriors in their own right, many were as skilled if not more so than their men. Thel smiled sardonically as he remembered the early days of the war, when Sangheili under his command had presumed the human females to be weak and helpless. They'd never made that mistake again.

"I would wager that many of the troops are battling outside. And don't forget the nuclear bombing and plasma bombardment continuously pounding this farced planet like a drum. The Gravemind is no doubt distracted," Galenus the Jiralhanae medic input wisely. Ah yes, the Brutes. Thel hadn't forgiven them entirely for their treachery and cowardice during the Great Schism. And he likely never would.

So how had the Sangheili believed that the humans would ever forgive _them?_ They had been fools. As soon as the war had ended, the Sangheili should have dedicated all their resources to helping humanity recover. But of course, that hadn't happened.

_We are a very cold and selfish race_, Thel realised in an epiphany. He'd seen how the humans cared for each other, going out of their way to help the most miserable wretch. Thel had in the past seen the humans risk their lives to save a complete stranger.

All Sangheili cared about was honour and the honour of their clan. Thel made a vow to put a stop to that after all this was over. They could learn a lot from the humans.

"I am not entirely sure why we do not just glass this parasite ridden domain," the other Sangheili in the strike team, named Jahl, wondered. Apparently a cousin of R'tas -- Thel had never met him. He had proven to be an admirable warrior though. "Surely that would kill the Gravemind?"

"I'm afraid not, dear Sangheili," Mendicant Bias replied patiently, speaking for the first time in a while. The majestic looking Oracle was floating at John's shoulder, keeping his light dim. Mendicant had been useful himself, his weaponry systems had been disabled aeons ago but his knowledge of Flood anatomy had been invaluable in taking them out.

"Why not revered Oracle, pray tell?" Jahl pressed, humbled and respectful.

"The Gravemind is much larger than you think. Your world contains many Forerunner complexes beneath its earthy shell. The Mind has expanded throughout these; essentially, it now covers the entire planet, reaching right down into the core," Mendicant continued to explain it a calm tone.

"Then why do we not just glass this entire planet? I love Sangheilios, but I would rather see it destroyed than in the claws of an abomination!" Jahl argued fiercely.

"Sangheili, killing the Gravemind in such a way would not stop the Flood. It has expanded to numerous colonies and planets. The core of its mind would just transfer to another depositary elsewhere if we kill it in physical terms. The only way to truly strike a blow is to inject a virus into the entirety of the Flood network, preventing a new Gravemind from forming. I _am_ that virus. Which is why we journey through this dank Citadel. Understand?"

Jahl's expression conveyed sheer confusion. Thel got the impression that he was not the most efficient plasma grenade in the cache of explosives, to speak metaphorically.

"Never mind Jahl, just trust me when I say this is the only way," Mendicant Bias finished with a frustrated sigh, turning back around. Somehow he knew the Sangheili's name. He knew a lot of things that he shouldn't have.

"I still don't--" Jahl persisted, causing Thel to groan. Mendicant turned around sharply, annoyed.

"Sangheili, _please!_ I'm trying to concentrate right now, the Gravemind has been assaulting my consciousness ever since we first landed on Sangheilios. I have my hands full repelling him," the Forerunner AI snapped. John turned to him in surprise.

"I didn't know that! You should have said something Mendicant. Do you need help?" the Spartan leader queried in concern. Mendicant gave the mechanical equivalent of a grimace.

"A little help wouldn't go unappreciated, but this is not something an organic can do. Unless one of you has psychic abilities? I thought not. No, I will be fine. Just let me concentrate," Mendicant replied. "Also, I apologise for shouting Jahl, it was wrong of me."

_He's always so courteous_," Thel marvelled, staring at the once again silent Forerunner Oracle. John still looked concerned.

"Would another AI be able to help?"

Mendicant turned to him incredulously.

"Well, yes, but I don't think any of your constructs would be able to withstand the Gravemind's presence; it is quite overwhelming. Even another Monitor would have their metaphorical hands full."

"Cortana's held off the Gravemind before. She might be able to help now. I'll contact her," John answered, sure of himself as always.

_AIs are certainly interesting beings. Perhaps it would be a good idea for us create some._

After a few moments of John attempting to contact the feminine Artificial Intelligence that was Cortana, she finally appeared. The two of them appeared to have a silent conversation for around two minutes. Thel had always found it fascinating how the AI could interface with his very mind; the humans were in many ways far more ingenuous than the Sangheili.

"She says she can, apparently she learned an effective way of fighting the Gravemind off when she was trapped on High Charity. Mendicant, I need to rest my hand on you."

John laid the palm of his hand, the gloved gauntlet covered with miniscule fibre optic connections which allowed Cortana to interface and "touch" the world through him. A soft blue nexus engulfed the Spartan and the Oracle.

Thel wished he could hear what was happening. Watching the no doubt interesting scene before him but without being able to see or hear was disconcerting as well as frustrating.

Five eerie and silent minutes later, a anguished howl rang deep through the echoing halls of the Citadel; something supernatural in origin. Shortly following this, John removed his hand from the Oracle's chassis, chuckling.

"What happened?" Thel demanded forcefully, eyes intent. The howl of sheer frustration and hatred still persisted, cutting into Thel's mind like a metallic blade scratched along glass.

"I managed to convince the Gravemind to leave Mendicant Bias alone. Well, 'convince' might not be the most accurate of terms actually. He'll be hurting sorely for quite a while now. That'll teach him not to expose his mind again," Cortana spoke through John's helmet, tones laden thick with smug satisfaction.

"Indeed, my thanks to you Cortana," Mendicant replied, the stress vanished from his voice. "You are indeed skilled."

"Will you be leaving now?" John asked his AI companion, a touch of upset in his voice.

"Actually, I think I'll stay with you for a while. You have a tendency to get yourself into trouble without me to guide your hand."

"Gee, thanks," John muttered dryly, but Thel could tell his friend was smiling beneath his mirrored scarlet visor.

"Are you not needed in the skies, honoured construct?" Thel questioned Cortana.

"I made a copy of myself. It's not as brilliant as the real me, but it'll do the job for a while. Oh! That reminds me. Things are looking a little grim in the orbital battle."

"What's happened?" Jahl asked, concerned. R'tas was leading the Sangheili fleet after all, and he was his cousin.

"Eden happened."


	46. Chapter 46

**Part 46 - Bad state of affairs**

"Well this is just peachy. Harper's dead, the rest of the Admiralty is dead or wounded, and Captain Daniels is MIA. Now what?" Lieutenant Dominique of the UNSC Navy moaned over an open channel to the rest of his fleet.

"The important thing is to remain calm. You're going to have to take command Lieutenant," the enigmatic, nameless ONI Admiral supplying the fleet with up to date intelligence told him firmly, opening a private communications link.

"_What?_ Can't you do it?" Dominique replied, terrified. The female ONI officer sighed patiently.

"No, Lieutenant. My work lies in intelligence, not warfare. I don't know the slightest thing about commanding a fleet," she said in a patient, level tone. Dominique didn't know here name.

"And you think _I_ do?" he replied, frantic.

"You can command a ship can't you?"

"It's not the same!"

"Isn't it?"

"No! I can relay small commands to my ship, sure, but not an entire fleet!" Dominique felt like he was about to pass out any moment, and the ONI officer evidently saw this.

"Lieutenant, calm down! That's an order. Just take deep breaths, and focus on the task at hand. A fleet isn't so different from a ship. You helped the Elites and Covenant escape from the Flood didn't you?"

Dominique stared around the bridge, and was painfully aware that his crew was staring at him. Most had sympathetic looks on their faces.

"That was different, I had instruction from Captain Daniels. I have enough trouble as it is commanding my ship, Spook, I can't handle an entire fleet. Can't an AI do it?" he suddenly had a revelation, face brightening. The ONI officer's expression turned stony.

"That would not be wise; AI units are neither fit nor programmed for command, it can accelerate their descent into rampancy. I can, however, have one advise you -- moderately. Now stand tall Captain, and look out the window at your people. They need you now, more than ever."

"Okay," Lieutenant Dominique replied quietly, almost as a whisper.

"What?"

"I said okay. I'll do it."

"Good man Lieutenant, pull this off and I'll make sure you get a Colonial Cross."

Dominique walked down the aisles, hands behind back, breathing deeply. He came to his observational window, and looked out at the UNSC fleet in all it's glory. Hundreds of ships, lined up...full of life...dependant on him...placing their life in his--

"_Sacre bleu_," Dominique groaned, before promptly fainting on the spot.

* * *

"Well, here were are," Mendez stated blankly, sitting himself down on a crate and staring down into his grimy, leathery hands. The Flood beat on the heavy blast doors outside, and every scream made him wince.

"Do not worry Reclaimer, they cannot penetrate those doors," 343 Guilty Spark replied optimistically, spinning gaily in the air.

"Don't be so sure Spark, the Flood are tough and this ship's taken a heavy beating in recent times. Even if they can't break through, they'll realise that they can just hack the computer systems soon. Then, they'll either open to doors, and we'll go down fighting, or they'll drain the room's oxygen levels, and we'll die of asphyxiation--" Mendez broke off, not trusting his voice to remain level and sturdy. He was terrified he would die gasping. At times like these, he wished he was religious so he had a God to pray to and make peace with.

_Eden has probably escaped, and the Captain's either dead or a hostage. I was an idiot to take my eyes off him. This is all my fault._

"Spark, if they breach this room, I want you to cut a hole in the hull and get out of here," Mendez gravely informed the floating monitor, who paused for a moment.

"But--that will kill you, Reclaimer," Spark protested, evidently baffled.

"Yes," was all Mendez dared say.

"And this doesn't bother you?"

"Well, _yes_, but there's no sense in us both being killed. You're needed to tell the Didact if Halo needs to be--wait a second. Spark!" Mendez's brain finally engaged, and he stood up, facing the floating ball of pure joy with exuberant exhalation. "You can teleport us out of here!"

"Oh, I suppose I can! How forgetful of me. When do you want to leave?"

Mendez rolled his eyes.

"_Gee_ Spark, I was thinking we could go some time next week. I'll go pack the bags and ask my parents if they want to go too, they could do with a break. We'll have to find someone to baby-sit the kids and dog though. _When do you think I want to go_? Now!"

"Ah. Well, then that could prove to be a problem. I used up most of my power rebooting and keeping the bullet in a field of electro-magnetic stasis so it wouldn't interfere with my internal circuits. I lack the energy needed to even teleport us to the other side of the room."

_Dammit_! Mendez forced himself to remain calm, keeping what would have been an explosion of nuclear proportions down to a mere swear word or two. The Flood were doubling their efforts, and the blast door was beginning to show signs of strain. It wouldn't be long before they'd break through.

"What powers you anyway? Did the Forerunners use batteries?"

"Hardly. I'm powered a fusion source. You see, two light weight atomic nuclei fuse together to form a denser nucleus, which releases a greater amount of energy. That's how your sun works, incidentally--"

"I know what fusion power is Spark, I'm not a dunce. So what's the problem?"

"It'd be too hard to explain in human terms. The basics of it is that I'm out of power for now. Well, aside from the backup generator," Spark answered.

"Backup generator? What's that powered by?"

"Anything really. To use human terms, kinetic energy converted, heat energy converted, electrical energy converted--"

"Would this backup generator be able to fuel the energy needed for a teleport?"

"Well, yes, theoretically. But it takes time to charge."

But Mendez was already moving towards a console embedded into the wall. He ripped off the maintenance panel, exposing the wiring and circuitry beneath.

"Would this ship's fusion reactor be enough to charge that generator up?" Mendez wondered aloud, talking to himself more than the monitor. Spark evidently heard him though.

"It depends how powerful it is. But yes, theoretically it could. But we haven't the time to establish a safe and secure connection to said reaction."

Mendez ripped out the tips of several wires, smiling when he saw them crackle with raw, dangerously powerful electricity leeched from the ship's core.

"Who said anything about safe?"

* * *

Graham Daniels' unstable escape pod crashed into a soft, spongy cushion of Flood biomass. Lucky in one sense, unlucky in another.

_Eden's gone. Thousands of brave men and women died in this battle, and the most devious, pathetic merciless bastard in this galaxy lives. Life isn't fair._

The Admiral had spared his life though. That was something, right? And to be fair, Eden had truly believed he was doing the right thing. Much like the Insurrectionists once had. That hadn't made it right though. Where would he go now? As soon as Graham got back to Earth, he'd make sure that a bounty of staggering proportions was placed upon Eden's head.

"Hello traveller, you seem to have crashed. Scans show you are still living. Well done!" an artificial voice suddenly cut through Graham's thoughts, shocking him back into reality. He unfastened his seatbelt, and looked around for the source of the voice.

The avatar of an AI was displayed upon the deck of the control panel. And unfortunately, not a smart AI, but a "dumb" one; programmed, not sentient.

"This is just what I need," Graham muttered, sighing. Well, it was better than nothing.

"If you require any medical aid, you will find a small cache to your immediate right. If you are unable to move, say so, and I will attempt to activate the auto-surgeon if it is still functioning," the AI droned on.

"I'm fine!" Graham replied irritably, pushing himself up. He felt a little shaky, but other than that he was fully functioning. "AI, where am I?"

"Location unknown Captain. Can I help you with anything else?"

"Unseal pod hatches AI, and prepare yourself for a hard transfer. You're coming with me," Graham ordered.

"Certainly sir. Opening hatches in 3-2-1--" The large door near the rear of the escape pod swung open with a hydraulic hiss, shortly before a crystalline chip ejected from the control panel, which contained the AI. Cursing once again at his bad luck, Graham pulled the chip out from the slot and inserted it into the slightly beaten wrist computer he wore.

"Transfer complete!" the annoyingly chirpy tones of the AI sung through the speakers of the wrist computer. Ignoring it, the beaten captain began to gather up the supplies he would need; weapons, food, water, camping supplies, and a whole other array of useful things. Once the MA5C was securely in his hand and fully loaded, he felt a lot better. With a grunt, Graham stepped out of the pod, into the horrific world around him.

Some years ago, Graham had needed a small operation after he'd developed bowel cancer. With a morbid curiosity, Graham had opted to see the procedure on video after it had been completed. His insides had looked disgusting and completely alien.

That's what the world around him looked like now, albeit it was even more putrid, and everything seemed dead.

"Holy sh it," he breathed, staring in amazement at the world around him.

"AI, which way is north?" Graham questioned the program on his wrist, who took a few seconds to respond.

"I shall place a waypoint over your neural interface showing a compass," the AI complied, and in a few seconds Graham saw a digital compass appear in the top left of his vision. Neural interface freaked him out at times, the image was being artificially fed into his retinae which then sent signals to his brain, overlaying the image over the real world. Or something like that.

"Thanks."

Now at least Graham sort of knew his bearings. He needed to find a way to contact the fleet before it was too late for him. There had to be a settlement around here somewhere. Right now though, it was dark and late, and Graham didn't care for the idea of walking blind through enemy territory.

After around half an hour of effort and fumbling around, he'd set up a camp, in the loosest sense of the word. At the very least, the tent would protect him from the howling wind and bitter cold. Realising how tired he was, Graham climbed inside his shelter, and immediately felt safe. He knew he wasn't, but the illusion of safety was there, and that would have to do.

Ten minutes later, he fell into a fitful sleep plagued with nightmares and other horrors of the mind.

* * *

"Spark?" Mendez wondered with a tinge of fear, staring at the buckling blast doors. Parasitic tendrils were already snaking their way into the room through the gaps.

"Not yet Reclaimer," the Monitor replied in a level tone, as if he'd just been interrupted whilst reading the morning paper. The Forerunner AI was currently surrounded by several power cables somehow suspended around its metal chassis. Electrical sparks crackled in an encompassing nexus.

"This had better work," the CPO replied, settling into a sturdy position in the centre of a group of crates. It was hardly brilliant protection, but then it was better than nothing.

"Have faith, Reclaimer," Spark chimed, sounding under duress.

"Faith? After what I saw in the war? There is no God, Spark. And if there is, he sure as hell doesn't give a damn about us," Mendez replied with a grim laugh.

"You mean your war with the Meddlers? Correct me if I'm wrong Reclaimer, but am I not right when I say you won that war?"

"Yeah, _eventually_, if you can call it a win. Scores of planets glassed, and the human population whittled down to a mere 200 million."

"But still...you won. So as I said Reclaimer, have faith," Spark answered self dismissively, as if he found the notion that there was no divine deity guiding their paths ridiculous. It had probably been programmed into him.

"The only thing I believe in is the ability of my gun to keep on firing. Believe you me Spark, I was once a very devout Christian. But over the years, I came to realise the truth -- God either doesn't exist or doesn't care. Besides, the arrival of the Covenant and Flood contradict dozens of things in the Bible to the point where its preposterous. You're welcome to fight alongside me Spark; God ain't."

"Faith doesn't have to be about gods, Reclaimer. Remember that."

Mendez was starting to feel uncomfortable about the topic, and so changed it.

"You done yet? This situation ain't getting any prettier Spark."

"Be patient Reclaimer, these things take--"

The Monitor of Installation 04 was suddenly cut off mid sentence as the huge, heavy blast doors finally caved in, and Flood poured in the room. Mendez immediately opened fire, dropping several of the slower, more clumsy ones.

"_Time?_" Mendez finished Spark's sentence for him, voice straining to sound over the cries of the feral Flood. "That's something we don't have Spark. Hurry!"

One of the Flood forms broke past his barrier, and lunged at Mendez's unprotected back. The CPO turned around, reaching for his knife frantically. The Flood form knocked it away, wrapping a molted, powerful tendril around Mendez's lightly armoured neck.

Suddenly, the pressure was released as a highly concentrated laser smashed into the Flood form's torso, practically disintegrating it.

"Well, that will set us back a little bit. Try not to force me to waste power Reclaimer, it doesn't help in the long run," Spark rebuked Mendez, red lens reverting back to its previous colour.

"Understood," Mendez grunted, firing another volley of rounds into the advancing Flood. They were moving slowly, but surely. Their assault reminded Mendez of history lessons discussing how Napoleons French overwhelmed the British forces by marching slowly forward. They took terrible losses, but eventually would fall upon the helpless British soldiers with swords.

The CPO stumbled backwards as several infection forms lunged at him, landing on his chest and pushing him back with their surprisingly dense weight. Panicking as they reared their barbed tentacles before his face, Mendez rolled across the ground, practically squashing them against his armour. The pus released looked and smelt disgusting.

He fell back to Spark, quickly ending the 'life' of one Flood form who was attempting to prevent the Monitor from recharging its power.

And that was when one got the better of him.

Mendez felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder, looked down and saw a spiked tendril poking through it, his blood splattered alongside it. Immediately he began to shake and dropped to the floor, feeling hot and then suddenly cold.

He was aware of the Flood gathering around him, as if they were gloating. Spark was dimly shouting, but Mendez couldn't hear him over the ringing in his ears. The world began to grow dark, tinged with a golden light. He felt himself drifting into unconsciousness, and knew it would be a slumber from which he would never awaken.

Then, gunfire sounded, accompanied by Flood screams and cries of frustration. The unexpected sounds brought Mendez back from the brink, and the murky well of black began to clear. He looked up, and saw a Spartan battling a Flood Tank form.

Was he hallucinating? He had to be, no-one else was on the ship.

"Sir! Are you okay?" a male voice battered at the ringing noise in his ears. Now that seemed real. So did the hands which lifted him up and supported his weight. He looked around, and saw another Spartan, systematically plunging a knife into the corpses of Flood forms in a manner that was all too familiar. His head cleared further, and he realised that they were Spartan IIIs.

"Tom? Lucy?" he wondered, although all he heard was a faint groan followed by a pitiful sounding cough. He almost dropped to his knees, but was supported again by Tom.

"Yes sir, it's us. Don't worry, you're safe. Lucy, get a med kit out. Didact, come over here and apply some pressure to his wound."

Mendez looked at his surroundings; alien steels, greys, and gigantic holograms. This was definitely not the _Galapagos_.

"I apologise creator, but this was the first place I thought of and I was under a lot of pressure. Had I hesitated a second later, we would have been overwhelmed." Mendez faintly recognised the voice as belonging to Guilty Spark.

"You did the right thing, 343."

"Where--" Mendez began to croak out, before breaking off again. Tom, helmet removed, looked down at him with an intent, concerned look on his face.

"Just relax sir, you're at Halo. Spark teleported you out of that ship; accidentally brought a few of the Flood with him too. They've been dealt with. Now, you're going to pass out momentarily, but you'll be up and walking again in no time. Just don't fight the sedative, it can be dangerous."

All this was too much for Mendez's pain drunken head, but he accepted the words anyway. He felt the black tinge return, but this time, he embraced it.


	47. Chapter 47

_In response to that person's review which said I was dragging this on a little, it's because Insurrection was originally going to have a sequel. Recently, I decided I just wanted closure on this, and so I had to drastically increase the size of this book to make sure there wasn't many loose threads._

**Part 47 - The Return**

"Warning; motion trackers detect multiple lifeforms closing in on our location," the AI Graham had put on standby suddenly cautioned. The captain leapt out from his troubled sleep, sitting up. His heart was racing a million miles a minute. And surely enough, he could hear footsteps outside.

_ Sh it,_ he swore silently as he cursed his bad luck yet again. Scrambling out from his bed covers, he grabbed his rifle with trembling hands, threw on some body armour and then climbed out of his tent.

He was met by a horrific sight. There had to be a dozen Flood forms lumbering towards him, slowly ambling and making terrifying noises. There was no doubt that they'd seen him. Still, they were moving slowly, and weren't armoured.

Graham opened fire with his MA5C...

...but nothing happened. Distraught, he checked the ammo reserve, and saw nothing inside except a jammed opening and a sheet of paper, with hastily scrawled writing on. With dread, he drew it out, simultaneously backing away from the Flood.

_Dear Captain, I thought long and hard and realised I don't quite forgive you for what you did. If you're reading this, then you must be in trouble, I know you never perform proper weapon maintenance. Now you know what it's like to have hope taken away from you. Terribly sorry old boy; I'd run if I were you._

_Regards, Admiral Eden._

Graham stared at the paper in shock for a few seconds, uncomprehending. The Flood were advancing all the while, and he had nothing to fight them with.

_I'm going to kill him. Screw the bounty, I'm going to steal a ship, go AWOL and make it my personal mission in life to find him, and kill him,_ Graham vowed, turning around so that he'd be able to run. Dread filled him when saw the Flood had encompassed him in a ring. Grimacing, he drew out his knife, which he wasn't very proficient with. If he was going to go down, one of them would go with him.

He had no chance to do this though, as a long tendril suddenly shot out from one of the Flood's limbs, knocking the knife out of his hands and constraining his wrist. He tried to rip it off with his other hand, but another tendril wrapped around it too. More grabbed his legs, and then he felt himself being lifted off the floor, helpless and unable to fight back.

"This one is important. It knows things," one of the Flood forms rumbled, its misshapen mouth contorting horrifically to form words.

"Do we assimilate it?" another asked, with an almost exact same tone of voice. Since when did the Flood speak amongst each other? They were evolving more and more by the minute.

"Not here, it has an iron will. Its mind might be damaged if we let one of the Turners assimilate it."

"Then do we take it before the Mind?"

"Yes, we do," the Flood form restraining him seemed to chuckle then, a cunning look in its dead eyes. Graham detected a very faint trace of hope. These Flood forms were intelligent and seemed independently minded. Maybe he could negotiate with them.

"Listen; you don't have to do that. Help us, I'll see to it that you're treated kindly. You don't have to be slaves to the Gravemind; you're alive too," Graham said to the ring of Flood, who genuinely looked taken aback by his offer.

_Fool!_, a voice suddenly spoke within the confines of his mind. The Flood forms visibly winced. _My will is theirs, your pleading is futile. You speak not to individuals but to one mind. Bring this human to me, I shall dissect what he knows._

"It shall be done," one of the Flood forms answered, looking terrified.

"Why are you helping him?" Graham despaired. These Flood forms seemed conflicted. Evolution was hindering the Gravemind as much as it was helping it.

"He gave us life," one answered simply. "He can take it away in the blink of an eye. We exist only to serve him."

And Graham actually found himself feeling sorry for them. Not hugely, seeing as how they were about to take him to the worst creature in the Galaxy, but still sorry all the same.

"Manacle him," one of the Flood forms ordered. They'd become more and more like organised soldiers recently. They even seemed to have ranks and distinguishing uniforms. One of the Flood forms roughly grabbed him with its called, clammy arms, ramming energy manacles onto his wrists aggressively. It was abnormally strong. It then tied a rope to the manacles, and tugged it once to check it was firm.

"Let us move," was all it said, and immediately the dozen or so Flood began running in synchronisation, at a ridiculously fast speed. Graham felt his body lift up from the ground as the Flood form holding his "leash" ran. He vaguely realised he was screaming, but could not hear himself over the roar of the wind.

_Why me?_

* * *

_Placid Enrichment, high above Sangheilios_

"Now what? There isn't anybody remaining with sufficient training and experience to command a fleet. Lieutenant Dominique's in a fragile state right now, and he wasn't an ideal choice to begin with," the ONI officer mused, speaking directly to the other leaders. They were inside a conference room on _Placid Enrichment_, discussing what was going to happen regarding UNSC leadership.

"And you are sure Captain Daniels is missing?" Equanimity questioned, a wise, intent look on his wizened face.

"As far as we can gather, yes. A Longsword took off from the _Galapagos_ earlier, before jumping into slipspace; not before jettisoning an escape pod with life signs closely matching Captain Daniels however. We have reason to believe he's stranded on Sangheilios. Where, however, we don't know."

It was at that point that R'tas stood up.

"Well, if needs must be, _I_ will be able to command the human fleet."

"An Elite?" the ONI officer sounded sceptical. "That won't do much to boost morale R'tas. Humans want a human leading them to victory, not the leader of a race which had been dedicated to wiping us out not even a year ago."

"I admit the situation is not ideal, but then what other option is there? I shall be able to relay commands to your ships and my own from the _Shadow of Intent._ With luck, and a bit of divine intervention, we shall make it through this battle."

Suddenly, the door swung inwards with a loud crash, and a figure in admiralty clothing stood, eyes blazing like ruby gems cutting through a dark night.

"No Elite will ever be in command of the UNSC. Not over my dead body," the man standing in the doorway spoke, and everyone in the room collectively gasped. Everyone recognised that voice. Humans had heard it in broadcast reporting victory over the Covenant, who had heard the voice in crushing reports of defeat and destruction.

Everyone in the room knew who this man was.

"Admiral Cole?" the ONI Admiral whispered, her voice tiny and seemingly insignificant as she beheld the legend before her. Her voice echoed the whispers of the people standing behind him. She'd known that the Surgeon had been searching for him, but never had she believed that he might _succeed._

A gigantic crowd of thousands had gathered behind the tall, proud and battle ready Admiral. The humans in the crowd were wide eyed with awe and respect, the Covenant with fear.

"Obviously," Cole replied dryly, striding over to the table and slamming his hands down on the futuristic material. Every non-human member of the table flinched.

"But, you're _dead_!" another ONI officer who was not privy to highly classification gasped, pale faced. Cole smiled wryly.

"I got better. We can discuss the details later. The important thing now is that I'm here, and the way I see it, the UNSC is in trouble, and you Covenant aren't doing so brilliantly yourself. I'm taking command."

Every human nodded absently. If Cole had told them to jump, they would have immediately asked 'how high?' Not everyone was pleased with arrangement however.

"Now hold on just a minute!" R'tas exclaimed angrily, jumping to his feet. Admiral Cole turned to face the Sangheili, who immediately shrunk a little, despite being several feet taller than the human. "You can't just come in here and take control!"

"Actually Elite, _I just did._ I've been reviewing your strategies; they're terrible. You fight just as sloppily now as you did back in the Great War. I _personally_ sent over three hundred of those pathetic hunks of metal you call ships down to hell in the war, against superior numbers too. Now you can either submit to my command or leave."

"My brother was on one of the ships you destroyed," R'tas muttered darkly, trembling with anger. Cole gave him a scathing look.

"Don't preach to me about losing family members in the war, _Elite._ Not ever. I'm taking command. You'll still have authority, but I want you to submit to my command. Fleets without one singular leader are doomed. You should have realised that. Now, what's your choice?"

The huge Jiralhanae Chieftain Daedalus stood then, and despite even his gargantuan size he felt a little intimidated by Cole.

"Not so quick human. We have all heard of your suicidal tactics. I won't have you destroy half my fleet with your command," Daedalus argued, folding his tree trunk sized arms resolutely. Cole laughed then, but it wasn't a warm one.

"Brute, you really have no idea do you? The Flood is constantly evolving and adapting. They're getting smarter by the minute. If you carry on the way you are, you won't just lose half your fleets -- you'll lose them all."

"I have no problem with submitting to Admiral Cole's expertise," Equanimity spoke softly. The rest of the alien leaders looked at him as if he were a traitor. The Prophet shrugged. "It makes sense. He's a very capable leader, as your brother found out R'tas. And what we're doing right now isn't working. It's worth a try. The alternative is worse."

Daedalus and R'tas exchanged a look between each other, before both simultaneously sighing. They then sunk to one knee before the bemused Admiral Cole.

"Human, we pledge our temporary fealty to you," R'tas informed the Admiral; Daedalus echoed his words.

Cole nodded, before going to a window and looking out at the fleets, lined up fairly battered. He disliked arrogance such as the sort he had just displayed, but sometimes it was the only way to make someone listen to you. And it _had_ worked, after all. Running some quick calculations in his head, and looking at Sangheilios' size, he turned back around.

"Now, I have a plan. One that will possibly help us win this war. And you're not going to like it."

Half an hour later, Cole had relayed his genius and insane plan to the fleet leaders. It took him a further half hour to convince them to accept it. Eventually, the ones arguing began tripping themselves up, and forced themselves to admit that Cole's plan was indeed necessary.

"I'll need a flagship. Marathon class, if that's possible. And a good AI, one which can think creatively but still take orders without arguing," Cole ordered, already walking out of the room, leaving the other leaders to hurry nervously after him.

"What are doing?" R'tas demanded.

"Telling them the truth," Cole answered, indicating the thousands of people staring at him with awe. He climbed the stairs to the highest platform in _Placid Enrichment_'s atrium, and activated the voice amplifier on the railing.

"I am Admiral Preston J. Cole, and as of now you are all under my command," he started off bluntly. The humans watching let off a wave of cheering. Cole made sure that his speech would be broadcast to every ship in the fleets.

"On whose authority? I follow Imperial Admiral R'tas and he alone!" an Elite garbed in golden zealot armour shouted back, immediately earning cold looks from several humans standing near him.

"Then listen to me when I ask that you follow Admiral Cole's orders," R'tas answered, coming up behind Cole with Daedalus and Equanimity at his side. That shut them up.

"I know this might be difficult to accept, but it's happening, so you might as well get used to it. Now, I'll be honest with you; only around half of you will live today. And so I want you all to do your best to be in that half. If I give an order, you follow it to the bone, or hand over your command to another. The Flood are arrogant, and _that_ is there weakness. Now get to your ships and be prepare for a hard planetary slingshot. Move!"

The crowd immediately rushed down to the docking bay, still wide eyed and shocked. Cole turned around and saw the Brute Chieftain looking down at him.

"That was...blunt," Daedalus told him with a raised eyebrow. The Admiral sighed.

"This is a blunt situation, Brute. Now get your ship and wait for me orders -- all of you."

_Here I go again, sending soldiers to their deaths. It sometimes seems like that's all I ever do. The terrifying thing is that I don't make people fight, I make them _make themselves _fight. These people would follow me down to hell and back, and that scares me more than it comforts me._

Wiping an unshed tear from his eye, Admiral Preston J. Cole pulled his cap down, and straightened his jacket. There would be time for sentimentality later.

Right now, he had a tide to turn.


	48. Chapter 48

**Part 48** **- Pawns of a Parasite**

"Are you sure you'll be okay, sir?" Tom asked his instructor as he firmly secured his helmet on, tightening the clasps and making sure it was airtight. Lucy was doing the same. The Didact rarely took his helmet off, as he said it was much more comfortable wearing it than not.

"With these two?" Mendez asked with a laugh, pointing back at 2401 Penitent Tangent and 049 Melancholy Prejudice. "I'll be fine. Well, maybe I'll kill myself to escape them, but other than that I'll be just peachy."

"I'm not comfortable with leaving you like this sir," Tom pressed, looking sideways at Lucy, who nodded firmly. Mendez, sighed, shoving a Sweet Williams Cigar he'd found buried deep in the folds of his armour into his mouth. He could faintly taste the metallic tinge of his own blood on the end of the cigar. Mendez approached Tom and Lucy, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. They towered over him, but the CPO knew that the two Spartan IIIs would always look up to him.

"You're needed in that battle. You're Spartans. I didn't train you so you could sit around in a musty control room all day." At the word 'musty', Melancholy Prejudice uttered a cry of outrage. "Go with the Didact, I'll be fine. If the worst comes to the worst, then I can activate Halo. I'm a Reclaimer too," Mendez told them sincerely.

The Didact had proposed, upon hearing Mendez's tale on how the battle was going, that he, Tom and Lucy have Guilty Spark access the teleportation network and take them to Sangheilios in an effort to help out. Tom had protested loudly at first, with the mute backing of Lucy, but eventually had lost the argument. Mendez opted to stay behind, due to being worn out, and offered to take up the burden of Halo should it prove necessary.

"What if the Flood--" Tom worried, but was immediately cut off by Mendez.

"If the Flood come, which I doubt, then me and my shotgun will have a field day, Spartan. And from what Sergeant Johnson tells me, these monitors have pretty powerful weaponry themselves. Now go, the UNSC needs you. Turn the tide, Spartans. Just like in the war. And stay safe."

Tom was about to say something, but words escaped him. Instead, he merely drew the man who hadn't just been an instructor but a father to replace the one he'd lost into a warm embrace, along with Lucy. It was an emotional moment, one the Didact watched with a smile.

_Humans. They're very apathetic creatures. But then how couldn't they be, being who they are?_ he thought to himself with a smile, remembering the fabled benignity of the Precursors before the Flood had overwhelmed them.

"We need to leave, Reclaimers," the Didact told the two Spartans. The two looked back at him, before nodding resolutely. They moved away from the moist eyed CPO, congregating around 343 Guilty Spark, who was once again humming a human nursery rhyme. The Forerunner sighed, wondering where his creation had picked up such eccentricities. "Spark!"

The monitor of Installation 04 snapped out of his reverie, looking up at the Didact. It seemed almost abashed.

"My apologies, creator. I'm ready to leave when you wish," Spark appeased, beginning to hum with a golden aura. The Didact, Tom and Lucy placed their hands on the monitor's chassis, and suddenly vanished in a flash of golden light.

Mendez stared at the empty space they had just occupied, before standing up with a weary sigh. He trudged over to Prejudice and Tangent.

"Well, looks like it's just us," Mendez told the two monitors, patting each of them lightly. 049 Melancholy Prejudice drew away from his touch with an outraged gasp.

"How dare you! Touching me without sterilised technician skin is absolutely against protocol, Reclaimer!" the stuck up, haughty Monitor of Installation 07 cried. Mendez rolled his eyes, sitting down on the glass floor of Halo's control room. Just metres away from him was a device which, if activated, could destroy every sentient being in the galaxy. It was too much to take in.

Vaguely, he still heard 049 muttering about "breached protocol." But Mendez didn't give a damn. He was tired after all he'd been through. And so he closed his eyes, and soon settled into a pleasant dream in which he throttling Admiral Eden with his bare hands.

* * *

They had arrived out of nowhere.

For hours, the Master Chief and his strike team had been travelling through the crystalline confines of the Citadel for hours, encountering only a few lone Flood patrols. And now, suddenly, they were surrounded. Hundreds of Flood soldiers had sprung up, one by one. Shepherding them in, until with a curse John realised his team had been trapped within a ring of Flood.

"Well this is just fantastic," Fred muttered sarcastically, drawing two long bladed knives from sheaths at his hip. Fred had always loved his knives. Kelly and Linda had drawn close to him, almost sub-consciously. John noticed it though, and felt more like an outsider to his Spartans than ever.

"What now?" the Arbiter demanded, activating his violet energy sword, and powering up his golden armour.

"Just wait for my signal," John told them calmly, even though inside he was terrified of the Flood approaching. And he knew that Cortana could tell he was frightened.

_Don't be afraid Chief, just do what you do best_, Cortana consoled gently.

_I'm not afraid!_ John snapped back, even though he knew it was futile to try and hide his thoughts from someone who shared them.

_That's the spirit John,_ the AI enthused. John just decided to let it go, and focused on the matter at hand. It was possible they could be killed. Maybe. At a pinch.

_"Now you see! You have merely been digging yourself deeper into the graves you so carefully crafted for yourself! And now, at the point where success seemed most probable, you shall die."_ the Gravemind taunted, using a Flood form as a mouthpiece. John frowned, drawing out his assasult rifle.

"You underestimate us, Gravemind," he called, shouting at nowhere in particular. "We are not average soldiers. _You_ will die today, once and for all."

And then there came the most chilling laugh John had ever heard. It cut deep into his body, filling him and his companions with dread.

_"Ah, the mighty children my enemies are not so omniscient after all. How disappointing. Did you truly believe I would be so easy to best? You have delivered the only means of my destruction right into my hands,"_ the Gravemind told them smugly. John turned to Mendicant Bias, who looked taken aback. _"Do you not understand? I let this invasion of my domain happen. You have fallen into my grasp. Did you think I would have allowed you into my Citadel had I not wished it? Even the naval battle high above, which your comrades so fiercely wage, is merely bait to hook you and that traitor you call Mendicant Bias in in."_

John was staring around him with a sick feeling. Flood were practically oozing out of the walls now, blocking all means of exit.

"You're lying. We're going to cut a path through your pathetic army, and then we'll destroy you, Gravemind," John replied, keeping his voice level somehow. He could feel the back of Galenus trembling.

_"Hundreds more ships sit dormant beneath this monument to your destruction. When I give the order, they shall ascend and cleanse the skies of your filth. My legions shall swarm out from catacombs long hidden, and shall overwhelm the armies that wage war on the surface. And you, my hated enemy: I shall not assimilate you. Instead, I shall make you watch as everything you have ever known and loved is burnt, and reduced to ashes and bone. And you will die an empty husk of a man."_

And then, as if a switch had suddenly been thrown, the Flood surrounding them surged forward. John immediately began firing his rifle, but it wasn't enough. For every one he killed, ten more took their place. Eventually, the strike team was caught in a surge of Flood. John found himself stretched to the limit, and knew that he would not last long. His weapon was knocked out of his hands, sent soaring through the air. And yet still the Spartan fought, ripping Flood soldiers to pieces with gauntleted hands. Then, he felt himself falling. John tumbled to the ground, sprawling out on his back, dozens of eager, hungry Flood forms looming over him hungrily.

Suddenly, the south wall of the Citadel smashed, shattering into millions of shards of crystal, sweeping away scores of Flood in a shredding wave. A bloodthirsty roar cut through the air, one that was not of the Flood.

"Die, you parasitic _es oh bees!_" a distinctly familiar voice cried from atop a large, reptilian creature which John recognised as a Sharquoi. He had to be dreaming.

_No, you're not_, Cortana informed him, sounding as stunned as he felt. The Flood forms which had been just a few minutes ago about to kill him were swept away with one huge clawed arm. Countless more were incinerated by a continuous jet of plasma fired from the Sharquoi's mouth.

A figure jumped down beside John, shooting rounds from his Designated Marksman Rifle, executing maimed Flood who were attempting to scramble to their feet. Two grandly garbed Elites jumped down after him, taking out Flood as quickly as any Spartan.

"Johnson?" the Master Chief had almost learnt to accept that the Sergeant had an uncanny way at turning up when all hope was lost, but this was unexpected, even for him.

"Sorry we took so long, Chief. That Sharquoi ain't exactly the brightest thing around," Johnson apologised, putting a tired hand on his shoulder. Most of the Flood soldiers had been wiped out by the Sharquoi and the reorientated strike team -- they were now fleeing or being torn to shreds if they attempted to resist.

"We need to get to the Gravemind as quickly as possible," John said, scooping a Spiker rifle off the ground. "This has all been one huge trap. Everyone is in danger."

"Well, let's get moving," Johnson said, turning to the Sharquoi. "Thanks for the lift. Stay here; don't let anyone follow us. Understand?"

John may have been hallucinating as a result of fear and pain, but he could have sworn the gargantuan creature nodded.

John looked back at his weary strike team. His Spartans were doing good, the Arbiter and Jahl seemed tired but still eager to fight, the two Brutes looked pumped up and almost seemed as if they were about to berserk, and the two Elites -- Lights of Sangheilios, by the look of it -- who had just arrived were standing proud and ready for a fight. Johnson was already moving, looking back at him as if he were wondering what was taking so long.

"Mendicant Bias, is what the Gravemind said true?" John asked the Grand Monitor.

"It's hard to say, Reclaimer. The Gravemind is as close to omniscient as possible, however, so it is wholly possible that this has all been one big trap. I was a fool not to see it," Mendicant Bias answered miserably.

"Never mind, dwelling on the past doesn't do anyone good. Trap or not, this abomination has to die. Move out!"


	49. Chapter 49

**Part 49 - Cole's triumph**

Cole stared up at the gigantic video-screen on the deck of his Marathon class ship, named the UNSC _Hastings._ Aesthetically, the ship was very similar to his old one, the _Everest_, but it lacked that spark of magic. Still, it would do. The video-screen was displaying the Flood fleet, split up into three groups and looking to be in anticipation. Cole smiled dryly.

"They look ready," he observed shrewdly. His plan had depended on them being clustered together as they had been before. "Ensign Hall, perform a sweep of this vector! Search for any areas where light is refracted around an object."

The woman he had barked the order to looked a little perplexed, but followed through with it anyway. Cole stared out of the observation window, narrowing his eyes at the space between his fleets. After a minute or so, Ensign Hall spoke up, sounding surprised.

"I've found a refraction, sir!" she called to Cole, who turned around expectably. After a prompt, she gave him the bearings.

"Launch an Archer missile at that location!" he commanded, almost grinning. He loved being right.

"Sir? There's a Covenant ship on the other side of that bearing," one of the other Ensigns protested.

"Just do it."

An Archer missile was fired from the underbelly of the Marathon class ship, sailing with pinpoint accuracy towards its intended destination. He heard a gasp reverberate throughout his bridge crew as the missile soared, looking for all the world as if it was about to hit the Covenant ship. Cole rolled his eyes at their melodrama. Suddenly, though, its flight path was interrupted as it crashed into something which just a few minutes ago hadn't been there.

The Archer exploded, and destroyed the small Flood scout ship which had been sitting still with active camouflage technology engaged. Cole didn't have to turn around to know that everyone was stunned. He merely nodded to himself, before hurrying down the steps, scratching his bristly beard absently, knowing he was in desperate need of a shave.

"What was that, sir?" a cry came from the midst of the bridge crew.

"A spy, Lieutenant," Cole answered curtly, activating a fleet wide connection. "The Flood heard my plan," Cole told them, feeling an urge to laugh. The face of R'tas Vadum' appeared in the upper right of the video-screen, looking concerned.

"Blast! How?"

"They've had a scout in the middle of our ships, Imperial Admiral. It's probably been there for hours."

R'tas growled, thumping his fist on the armrest of his large, ornate chair. Cole was enjoying himself immensely.

"You don't seem awfully worried about this," Equanimity observed shrewdly.

"That's because I'm not, Prophet," Cole answered tartly. He always called them by their rank, or species. Never their actual names. "The Flood only found out about Plan B."

Admiral Cole let them process this for a few moments, feeling elated. Then, simultaneously, they frowned.

"Plan B? I am not fully versed with human intricacies, Cole, so correct me if I'm wrong, but: isn't Plan B usually the secondary one?" Imperial Admiral R'tas asked, puzzled.

"Precisely," Cole confirmed ambiguously, lowering his cap to conceal his broad smile. The aliens didn't have a clue.

"Then why was Plan B our primary plan?" Equanimity demanded in an exasperated tone.

"It never was, Hierarch," Cole told him with a completely straight face. "I suspected that the Flood would be listening in, and so fed them false information. Right now, they're preparing for a three way attack, which is why they've split themselves into three groups."

"So, what is the plan then?" R'tas asked him, smiling too.

"I can't tell you that," Cole replied. The smile the Elite wore faded as quickly as it had arrived.

"_Why?_" R'tas demanded icily, gripping onto the edges of his chair. Cole drew a pipe out of his pocket; a habit that he'd recently picked up. However, he was firmly against lighting it on his ship, so merely stuck the wooden end in his mouth.

"Well, Imperial Admiral, there might be another Flood ship lingering around here. It might be latched to the back of an asteroid, or even attached to the underbelly of one of your ships; you don't have motion detectors, do you? It don't want to risk them finding out about the ace I have up my sleave, so just to be safe, I'll keep it to myself."

"So then how do we know what to do?" Equanimity wondered, tired now.

"I'll tell you when the time is right. You probably wouldn't understand the deeper concept of it anyway; from what I understand you Covenant aren't too good at innovation, just adaption," the Admiral answered, which prompted R'tas' mandibles to open in anger. Cole held up his hands, placating the annoyed Elite. "It's only the truth. From what I hear, one of our AIs discovered after five minutes with your slipspace technology what you hadn't noticed for thousands of years."

Equanimity drew himself up importantly, the usually calm and collected Prophet also ruffled.

"Now see here Cole, I will not have you slandering our--"

"Never mind, Prophet. I meant no offence. Just follow my lead, and obey my orders."

Cole turned away from the screen, walking back up the stairs, tapping the end of his pipe thoughtfully. He stared out at the black abyss, before looking down at the tarnished Sangheilios. Even the atmosphere seemed to be infected. A planet like that wouldn't last long. The water would become infected, and the ice on the planet would probably melt as a result of heat being unable to escape Sangheilios' atmosphere. That would lead the catastrophic conditions, leading to countless Earthquakes, volcanoes, hurricanes, and other natural disasters, similar to what had almost happened to Earth until the early 22nd century. The Flood probably didn't give a damn though.

His whole plan was riding on a thesis he had read dozens of years ago, originally written by Doctor Tobias Shaw, one of two people who had worked together to create the Shaw-Fujikawa drive, which enabled ships to enter that strange dimension known as slipspace. Shaw's idea had been dismissed as impossible; a blemish on an otherwise impeccable career, but it had always fascinated Cole. In his eyes, nothing was impossible. And Covenant slipspace technology, derived from the Forerunners, might just be what Shaw's theory needed.

It was a long shot, but if it could be pulled off, then the Flood would be wiped out with ease. Cole felt his chest rise, before heavily falling. He closed his eyes for a few moments, praying to whatever deity might be watching. Then he turned around, addressing his bridge crew.

"Give the signal to the rest of the fleets. We're commencing the attack."

* * *

"I can see transportation," one of the Flood forms drawled out in a monotone voice which chilled Captain Graham Daniels to the bone.

"Good. It shall speed our journey to the Mind," another answered in the exact same tone of voice. It was as if they were all clones of each other.

Graham looked with dread at the Spectre he was being dragged towards, which looked as if were about to explode at any second. Then again, that might be a good thing. Dying would be a preferable alternative to becoming one of the Flood.

They'd covered dozens of miles in only an hour or so, but evidently even the Flood with their super-enhanced strength and stamina grew tired, for they had come to a halt, before slowing down to a slow trudge. Graham had tried to escape, but found he could not break free from the energy manacles restraining him. Even if he could, he knew the Flood would chase him down again with ease.

Graham stumbled on a particularly high mound of biomass, falling to the foul smelling ground with a shout. He cried out in agony when the searing plasma of the manacles burnt into his flesh as pressure was exerted on them. One of the Flood forms, who seemed to be an infected human, turned around sharply, with inhuman grace. Graham could see faint traces of the man the form had once been, although the misshapen head was snapped back at an angle which would kill a normal person, with biomass reaching out of the mouth and forming a separate head, which had the red feathery tendrils of the infection form protruding from them. On the Flood form's armour, Graham could faintly make out the acronym "ODST."

"Get up," it told him flatly, staring at him with dead eyes. Graham gulped, attempting to stand. He found to his horror that his leg was jammed.

"I can't," he protested weakly, giving another firm yank. His limb was stuck fast in the soft, loamy and dead ground. The Flood-ODST regarded his situation for a moment, before raising a razor sharp limb.

"I shall free you," it told him, advancing towards his trapped leg slowly, flexing its blade-like limb. Graham stared at the keen edge in terror, desperately attempting to free his leg. It was no use.

The Flood-ODST placed its sharp limb on Graham's trapped thigh, and he whimpered in fear. Seeing the lack of emotion in the form's mutilated gaze, Graham turned away, shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth. He could feel the sharp limb cutting into his leg, drawing a small trickle of blood. Graham heard air being cut as the limb was lifted up.

The blade came down, with a sickening slice. Graham felt pain, and then nothing. For a split second, there existed nothing to him. Everything was blanked out as his mind struggled to cope with what had just been done to his body.

Then sensation returned, and Graham found himself screaming in agony. He looked behind him, and saw his severed leg move away from him as the Flood form grabbed the rest of him with extraordinary strength, lifting him and throwing him over its shoulder with ease. His leg was bleeding, badly, and he began to feel faint, groaning.

The Flood-ODST noticed this, and touched a lone tendril to the stump where his left leg had once been. Immediately the gaping hole closed over, covered by a Flood biomass.

Graham could hardly think, and merely looked back over the revolting shoulder of the Flood form at his severed stump of a leg, which was sinking in a pool of sticky blood. He'd lost a leg. He'd never naturally walk again.

He was thrown into the back seat of the smoking Spectre, left to quiver and shake. The look the Flood gave him was one of complete indifference; no emotion whatsoever.

The Flood-ODST began to climb into the driver's cockpit of the Spectre, but never made it. Instead, a volley of bullets crashed into the upper torso of it, eventually cascading into its dual heads. Flesh and blood splattered across the area around it.

Graham stared at the source of the shot, and saw three tall figures step out of a golden light, opening fire on the startled Flood, who were attempting to reach for their own weapons. They never had a chance; each was cut down mercilessly before they could even gasp.

One of them collapsed on Graham, its disfigured and bleak eyes staring up at him with shock. Instinctively, he tried to leap out of the Spectre away from the Flood corpse, and soon found himself toppling out of the alien vehicle to the hard ground below. He heard footsteps around him, and winced, thinking the Flood had managed to fight off his rescuers. But instead of rough treatment and a manacling, all Graham heard were concerned words.

"Captain! Are you okay?" the voice was male, and dimly registered somewhere in the back of Graham's mind as being slightly familiar. The words echoed, as if they were being spoken through a helmet. He looked up, and saw what he could only describe as a Spartan looking down at him. But not like the Master Chief or his ilk. He realised this was a Spartan III.

"My leg," he groaned, weeping slightly. He felt a hand grasp his own, pulling him up and supporting him. His blurry vision had cleared, revealing his saviours. Two Spartan IIIs, and the Forerunner -- the Didact. Hovering about ten metres from the ground was the Monitor, 343 Guilty Spark.

"What happened?" the Didact asked tenderly as a father would to a child. Graham winced as the Forerunner gently prodded the raw flesh lining the bottom of what was now a stump cut off slightly below the knee.

"I got trapped. One of those bastards just cut it off. They wanted to interrogate me, they were taking me to the Gravemind," Graham gasped out, ashen faced.

"Really? Well, you're lucky Spark noticed your lifeboat beacon, and then followed the blood particles which were falling on the floor," the Didact replied, regarding his MA5C with amusement before shouldering it.

"Couldn't you have got here a few minutes earlier?" Graham pined, groping with his hand down at the area where his leg had once been. Nothing. He felt a sudden urge to faint. The Didact stared at him apologetically.

"We got here as fast as we could, child. I am truly sorry that we weren't fast enough."

"Hey, it's not all bad," the male Spartan III -- was Tom his name? -- input, looking down clinically at Graham's leg -- or rather, lack of leg. "It was a cut below the knee, so you were lucky there. A skilled surgeon should be able to flash clone you a new one; or replace it with a prosthetic at the least."

That cheered Graham up considerably. But even so, it wouldn't be his leg, and it wouldn't work as well as a normal one would. Tom was already looking at the Spectre Graham had just fallen out of, smiling.

"We need to get to the Vadam Citadel," he voiced aloud, turning to his companions. "And Spark won't be able to access the teleportation grid for a while now. That Spectre should do the job, however."

The Didact was staring at the smoking vehicle with no little apprehension, doubt creeping into his gaze. He stared pointedly at a plasma flame which had sprouted on the front of the vehicle.

"It looks a little unsafe," the Forerunner answered.

"Spark can hold it together, right?" Tom asked the Monitor, who descended down to his eye level. Graham was starting to get a little tired of balancing on one leg whilst being supported by the other Spartan III, Lucy.

"I can certainly do my best," Spark answered modestly.

"That'll have to do," Tom replied, before turning to Lucy. "Lower the Captain into the Spectre, would you?"

"I'm going with you?" Graham questioned, surprised. The Didact laughed.

"Well, we're not leaving you here, child," the Forerunner told him kindly as he was helped into the Spectre by the Spartan. "343 Guilty Spark will look after you."

Graham looked at the Monitor which descended down to him, powering down its anti-gravity thrusters and resting on his lap.

"Don't worry Reclaimer, I shall protect you to the best of my abilities!" Spark chirped happily. Graham laughed, although his chuckle soon turned into a wheeze.

"You'd better," he jested. "Oh, and Spark?"

"Yes, Reclaimer?"

"Thanks for coming back."

"Think nothing of it."

The Didact climbed in the seat just below Graham, frowning at the shape of the vehicle, muttering how it was not as comfortable as it looked. The Forerunner then turned to face Tom.

"Will you be driving?" he asked. Tom looked taken aback.

"Me? Hell no, Lucy's the vehicle expert."

The mute, quite possibly insane Spartan was driving? Oh, God. Graham and the Didact shared an uneasy look as the female Spartan III eased into the driver's seat, clasping the alien steering wheel firmly. Tom climbed into the Spectre, sitting just in front of Graham. He turned back to face them.

"Don't worry, Lucy's a brilliant driver. You might want to hold on though."

Graham had just been about to ask 'why?', when the Spectre suddenly roared into action, and he very quickly found out why Tom had said that.

* * *

"Fire at will," Cole ordered, staring at the Flood armada with a malicious glint in his eye. The hundreds of ships spread out across his collective fleets complied with the order, and soon what had once been empty space was awash with nuclear missiles, plasma torpedoes, MAC rounds, and pulse lasers.

The Flood retaliated of course, and the battle was well and truly underway. Cole stood stoic and immovable as he watched the unstoppable force clash against the immovable object; him.

"Launch all Shivas and Archers at the Capital ship in designated Flood group C," Cole commanded on a more local level, speaking to his bridge crew. Ensign Hall, who was in charge of weapons, looked up at him.

"_All_ of them, sir?"

Cole looked down at her like she'd gone insane.

"Are you going deaf, Ensign? Yes, all of them. Now!"

Within moments, the missiles were fired out from the UNSC _Hastings_, aimed at one of the Flood Capital ships. The nuclear warheads not shot down by the multifarious pulse lasers struck the shield of the ship, which rippled as it was subjected to intense heat energy. The shield broke for a split second, which was enough time for the EMP blast to knock the ship's electronic systems out. The attack was followed by a MAC round, which tore clean through the ship's command bridge with pinpoint accuracy.

The ship sparked, and then exploded. Cole wasn't so much interested in the Capital ship being destroyed as he was in the debris scattered over miles by the large scow, as well as the aftermath of the nuclear detonations. Coupled together, they created a very useful murky cloud which ships could pass through, allowing Cole to get up close to the Flood without them being able to target him properly.

"Prophet, I want your ships to keep the Flood occupied. Imperial Admiral, take your Elites and form up on the UNSC, we're going into the eye of the storm," Cole ordered, brushing perspiration from his brow.

"But we'll be wiped out!" R'tas protested vehemently. Cole shook his head.

"Not if you stay in that cloud. When I give the word, I want all of your ships to begin to open a slipspace rupture, near the Flood."

"We're fleeing?" R'tas demanded shrilly.

"No. Just wait for my signal Elite," Cole answered sharply. His ship, the _Hastings_, soared through the debris and other particles, momentarily winking out of site. It was now Cole thought back to Shaw's thesis.

_"Theoretically speaking, it should be wholly possible to close a "slipspace" rupture as an object is travelling through it, separating half the object from the other. Undoubtedly this would be a highly effective naval combat technique should it prove possible, but right now slipspace portals are far too unstable and fleeting for this to be tested properly._"

Impossible with UNSC technology; not with the new Covenant FTL drives. Or so Cole hoped. His eyebrows met as he stared ahead with a deadly intent, the prow of his ship exiting the debris field just a few miles away from the first group of Flood ships.

"Now! Open ruptures to the coordinates I'm sending you; everybody. Then, get the hell out of there," Cole ordered, not even blinking. His baffled bridge crew seemed unsure, but complied with his orders, and soon hundreds of slipspace ruptures were opening in the space encompassing the Flood ships.

Cole's ships were taking heavy fire, but the Flood were unable to stop the majority of the rifts being created. As soon as they had been created, the ships of the UNSC and Elites fled, powering up their engines to maximum intensity. The Flood, who had obviously never had the opportunity to read a book by Tobias Shaw, stayed rooted, some approaching the slipspace portals cautiously whilst others confidently fired at Cole's fleeing ships, no doubt thinking they'd scared him off.

The expanding ruptures merged into each other, creating a gigantic rupture devoid of light or anything, for that matter.

Cole was staring down at the huge void, hoping that Shaw had been right. His hope paid off. The slipspace rifts eventually reached a unsustainable level as the energy they required to stay open was quickly made unavailable. One by one, they collapsed on themselves, with the majority of the Flood ships partially inside them.

The result was spectacular.

The Flood ships had been dragged through the portals, which in itself wouldn't have been a problem for them. They'd have just exited slipspace instantly. However, the portals had collapsed as the majority of them had been pulled halfway through, which meant half of the ship going through the rupture was in slipspace, whereas the other had remained behind, sheared in half. Almost one hundred Flood ships were left without their front or back ends, hanging in empty space like useless chunks of metal.

Thousands of Flood forms were sucked out into space, immediately frozen by the temperature. Cole stared down at the destruction with a malicious grin, and could hear the cheers of his bridge crew behind him. He hadn't felt like this for years. The rest of the Flood ships -- significantly cut in number now had stopped firing at the Covenant, and Cole wished he could see the look on the occupants' collective faces.

"By the gods! Cole wiped out almost half their fleet with a single strike!" R'tas exclaimed, his voice carrying a curious mix of exaltation, disbelief and horror. Admiral Cole dabbed his face with a handkerchief, feeling almost as shocked. Shaw had been right.

"You can thank the pioneers of human slipspace travel for that," Cole answered descending down the stairs to be met by stunned faces and cheers.

"But what exactly happened?" Equanimity questioned. "One minute they were here, the next they were gone!"

"The slipspace ruptures became unstable, and engulfed the Flood ships before collapsing, taking them with it. Half of their ship hulls are down there, and the others are stuck in a slipspace tunnel which will open out into a neutron star. Now, wipe out the rest of the bastards," Cole grinned fiercely, pointing at the 150 or so Flood ships remaining, which were now severely outnumbered by the UNSC, Elites and Covenant.

R'tas laughed, his eyes taking a steely glint.

"Gladly."


	50. Chapter 50

**Part 50 - Checkmate**

"Tom, help the Captain out of the Spectre, please," the Didact ordered the Spartan III, who nodded, reaching down. It felt very degrading to Graham as he was lifted out like a child, knowing he was unable to walk himself. But still, he accepted Tom's help.

The once high rising wall of Vadam had been blown to smithereens, by the raging battle inside. Rubble was strewn across the fringes of the battered city. Tom leaped over a five foot high piece of the fragmented wall with Graham, with a casual indifference that actually annoyed him. The Didact and Lucy followed suit, whereas Guilty Spark merely flew over it.

Dead bodies lay strewn in the streets, the majority of them belonging to Flood soldiers who had perished in battle. A mile or so ahead, the roar of battle could still clearly be heard, close to the front doors of the Citadel.

"It seems we're winning," the Didact noted with a smile, drawing out his MA5C. He looked at Tom. "Find somewhere safe for the Captain."

Graham resented being unable to help the others fight, but understood he'd be a liability as he was. Better to just stay out of the way and pray. Tom kicked down the heavy door of a small house, entering it. The design was clearly alien, although Graham noticed a few human aesthetics here and there, such as paintings by famous artists or classic human books sprawled out, spines facing the ceilings. Evidently nobody had entered the house before, since everything was as it should be.

Tom placed Graham on a couch made of a strange material gently, looking around the room grimly. Guilty Spark followed him, setting down on a small table at hip height. The Didact walked in, looking concerned and a little apologetic.

"I'm sorry we have to leave you here, child, it's just-"

Graham cut the Forerunner off with a hand in the air, smiling.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be fine. Besides, I've got some stimulating conversation to keep my entertained," he replied dryly, looking at Spark. The Forerunner nodded gravely.

"Stay safe, Captain. 343, guard him with your life."

And with that, the Didact motioned to his two Spartan companions, and they exited the small house, firmly sealing the door after them. The Forerunner set a brisk jog down the street, and had a sudden flashback to the war his race had waged with the Flood. That hadn't ended well. However, as much as it pained him to admit it, Forerunners had been arrogant beyond belief. Their empire had stretched through the galaxy, and they were the chosen, told by the Precursors before they finally succumbed to the Flood to carry on their legacy. They had also been told that if they ever encountered those who had been left behind, then they must pledge themselves to guiding and helping them reach their former glory.

_Well we certainly found them. But only I remain to show these incredible beings the way. Who am I though, to presume I can undertake such a task? I, who blindly ignored the threat of the Flood? I, who let thousands of worlds and trillions of lives perish? I, who let loose a terrible power which nearly wiped out all life in the galaxy?_

Starting to grow troubled by his train of thought, the Didact focused on the task at hand, emerging from the narrow street out into the vast and majestic open space leading up to the doors of the Citadel. What he saw gladdened him immensely.

The UNSC, Covenant and Sangheili were massacring the fleeing Flood, nearly reaching the grandiose and shielded doors of the Citadel. Dead bodies were being incinerated by Flood Response Divisions, and the battle was clearly in their favour.

"Wow, it looks like we weren't needed after all," Tom observed, drawing a sniper rifle out from his pack and unpacking it. The Spartan loaded a round, brought the scope to his eye level, and fired. The bullet zoomed across the battlefield and hit an infected Sangheili in the small cavity where the infection form nestled. "Still, it doesn't mean we can't get a piece of the action."

The Didact nodded, rushing forward with the two Spartans at his side. They joined a group of Jiralhanae who were being pressed hard, wiping the attacking "Tank" form out quickly and with ease.

_It's strange. The Gravemind must cover the entire planet by now. The last time he was that size, the Flood were as evolved and efficient as any Forerunner. These Flood forms aren't like that at all,_ the Didact observed as he felled a further three Flood forms. In fact, it almost seemed like they were being _allowed_ to win.

"Who the hell are you?" a human captain asked the Forerunner when he saved a UNSC platoon from a burrowing Stalker.

"I haven't had a name in a very long time, child. You may call me the Didact," he replied, sitting down with a gasp and watching the battle draw to a close. The remaining Flood were being pushed into a corner by the eager and savage looking Sangheili. The captain the Didact was sat next to did a double take.

"Wait, _you're_ the Forerunner? Oh my God," the human exclaimed. "I thought you were at Halo, sir?"

"Don't 'sir' me please Captain, I'm not your superior. I decided to come here and help out. But I see now that my efforts have gone to waste. What a shame."

The Sangheili made quick work of the Flood, and a thunderous cheer broke out amongst the ranks, thousands upon thousands of victorious cries. Wraiths and Scorpions were lined up to face the doors of the Citadel, and they opened fire. The rounds smashed into the heavy shielding of the doors, causing them to ripple and shimmer dangerously.

"And so we come to the climax," Tom grinned, coming up behind the Didact with Lucy. "The Master Chief will get his support in no time."

The Didact wanted to agree, but couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. This had all been too easy. He'd fought the Gravemind in the past; spoken with it face for face before activating Halo 100,000 years ago. As monstrous as the creation of the Precursors was, it wasn't idiotic. Quite the opposite in fact. And the Forerunner knew it wouldn't allow itself to be beaten like this.

The shields of the doors finally buckled, dissipating with a loud, ostentatious crack. Another wave of victory broke out amongst the armies. Their cheers and roars of victory were soon drowned out though, by the chilling and surreal sound of menacing laughing. A laugh the Didact had last heard 100,000 years ago.

"_Now the King has been backed into a corner! You merely destroyed my pawns; insignificant beings designed to distract rather than destroy. My true strategy shall now be unveiled, and all the pieces shall come into play! Checkmate._"

The ominous words of the Gravemind were amplified through the entire city, raising hairs on the Didact's body. He understood the chess analogy, having played the game with Lucy on the way to Sigma Halo. And he finally realised why he'd had a bad feeling.

They hadn't won. They'd merely played right into the Gravemind's metaphoric hands.

"What does he mean?" a human corporal asked in a terrified tone, his face the personification of fear. Similar questions were being asked amongst the rest of the crowd. The Didact stood up, heart beating a mile a minute.

"This is a trap," the Didact told him, before activating the microphone in his helmet, which amplified his voice without a loss in quality. "If any of you want to live, bunker down and ready yourself now."

Hearing his voice, countless uncertain soldiers complied with his order, grateful for direction no matter what its source of origin. Legions of soldiers clambered into cover, drawing out their weapons and gesturing with them wildly.

A rumbling began to shake the ground. The Didact felt the tremors beneath his feet, and had to activate the anti-gravity propulsion system in his boots to prevent himself falling over. Unfortunately, nobody else had this technology, and practically everyone toppled to the ground with a cry.

Then, the ground collapsed, taking thousands of the soldiers who hadn't yet climbed into cover by the great doors of the Citadel with it. Screams cut through the terrified silence, accentuated by regimented chants.

Simultaneously, fifty or so Flood ships broke through the rift, a strange hybrid of Covenant and Flood technology. They ignored the ground units, soaring straight up into space, no doubt to engage the victorious fleets of Admiral Cole. He would be in trouble.

Flood soldiers ascended from the gaping hole in the ground in droves, lined, structured and wearing full armour of Flood origin. They weren't anything like the molting zombies fought previously. These were intelligent denizens, much like the ones the Didact had once fought. Commanding officers standing ten feet tall paraded up and down the regimented troops, barking orders in a completely alien language. They swivelled on the heel, facing the baulking troops of the UNSC, Covenant and Sangheili. The tallest of the Flood forms strode forward, wearing a deep sage armour, the likes of which the Didact remembered too well"As you can see, you are outnumbered and outgunned by our might," the Flood form rumbled, its voice in synchronisation with the Gravemind's. "Surrender now, and you shall be made a part of our glorious existence; granted immortality and safety."

The Didact waited for the leaders of the ground forces to respond, but that never happened. They were all white faced and cowering. Knowing there was no other option, the Didact spiralled out of cover and met the Flood speaker in the eye.

"What use is immortality and safety when you don't retain your personality or control? I'm willing to bet every soldier here would rather die than face such a fate," the Forerunner challenged, and was relieved to hear murmurs of agreement sound from behind him.

"Ah, Didact," the Flood commander responded, its voice now completely possessed by the Gravemind's. "It has been a very long time; like the rest of your pathetic failure of a race, I thought you were dead."

"Likewise, Gravemind," the Didact replied coolly. The Mind chuckled with mirth, staring at him through eyes that weren't its own.

"I will _never_ die, Forerunner. I am a God!"

"God of what, Gravemind? A race which is merely an extension of your own being? You're a God only unto yourself, abomination. And it shall forever remain thus," the Didact taunted, smiling when he saw the features of the being the Gravemind was possessing contort with anger.

"You will soon come to worship me, Didact. Whether you wish to or not," the Mind threatened, livid.

"That's always been your fatal flaw, Gravemind. Your arrogance knows no bounds. And it shall be your downfall," the Forerunner answered tartly, before turning around slightly to face the uncertain ranks behind him. "The Master Chief and his Strike Team are heading even as we speak to kill this evil creature. We need to buy him time though, which means we have to hold this position for as long as it takes! If we fail, the entire Galaxy is doomed! Are you willing to fight?"

"_Yes sir_!" the resounding cry boomed back nearly deafened him. He nodded, turning back to face the tall denizen the Gravemind was controlling.

"So you don't surrender then?" the Gravemind demanded icily, its voice a mere rage filled whisper, which the Didact somehow managed the hear.

The Forerunner drew a fusion blade out from his armour, twirling it in his hands. The power of a sun was contained inside, although the burst would last for but a split second. It would be enough though. He grabbed the hilt, and launched it at the possessed Flood form. The blade spun through the air, the energy contained within pulsating intensely. The object struck the Flood form in the chest, and exploded in a violent burst of fusion power, incinerating the possessed being instantly.

"We do not."

* * *

"Admiral Cole! We've got Flood ships incoming, from Sangheilios!" a terrified Ensign squeaked, staring at her monitor. Cole frowned deeply, rushing to his observation window. His eyebrows rose when he saw what the Ensign had been talking about.

Around forty Flood ships were ascending through the atmosphere, charging straight for them. Cole stared at them with rising dread. He turned to the large communications screen, to see R'tas Vadum' staring at the fleet with a bemused expression.

"There can't be more than a mere few dozen of them! The Gravemind grows ever more desperate in his attempt to thwart us. We shall make short work of these abominations. Open fire!" the Imperial Admiral ordered confidently, with a bloodthirsty grin. Cole stared harder at the Flood fleet, before turning back to R'tas suddenly.

"Belay that order!" he commanded, sharply. But the Elites ignored him, their over-confidence causing them to ignore him. Their ships surged forward, bolstered by the Covenant. The UNSC obeyed Cole, staying put.

"Don't be absurd, human!" R'tas growled at him. "We shall wipe them out in a single strike, and take our beloved Sangheilios back!"

"Don't do it, R'tas! Something's not right," Cole barked, staring menacingly at the arrogant and livid Elite.

"Fire at will, warriors," R'tas ordered, ignoring him completely. Cole stared at the screen with anger for a few moments, before moving away and rushing to his observation deck and staring at the scene.

The Elites and Covenant opened fire, multifarious plasma arcs and pulse lasers were launched at the Flood reinforcements. The rounds impacted against the ships, obscuring Cole's view.

"You see, Cole? A quick strike wiped the bastards out," R'tas boasted, smiling. Cole was still staring down at the cloud which had formed with a grim expression.

Suddenly, a thin golden beam cut through the debris and spark cloud, slicing through space and impacting against a Covenant CSS Battle Cruiser. Its shields held for a few moments, before failing. The beam cut through the heart of the ship, instantly destroying it.

"By the Forerunners!" Equanimity gasped, face ashen. The entirety of the Flood reinforcements soared out from the obscuring cloud, completely unharmed. Several more beams were fired from the Flood ships, destroying two of the Elite heavy cruisers.

"Pull out of there, now!" Cole roared at R'tas, who was stunned with shock. After a few moments, he recovered, given the order for his ships to fall back.

"What the hell are those ships, sir?" Second Lieutenant Borvich demanded, panic in his voice.

"The Flood have obviously laid a trap for us. That technology is far beyond what we have," Cole murmured, watching the Flood ships draw closer. He took a swig of gin from the flask in his coat pocked, wiping freshly arisen sweat from his wrinkled brow. Suddenly, his communications screen was drowned out in a wave of static, before being replaced with an image of a ship's interior. He was greeted with the image of a Monitor who looked a lot like pictures he'd been shown of Mendicant Bias in his briefing by Surgeon, albeit this Monitor glowed red rather than golden and looked a lot more beaten and weathered.

"Admiral Cole," it greeted in a monotonous and dead voice. Cole stared up at it, unflinching.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, his blood running ice cold. The Monitor on the screen chuckled, an ethereal laugh which was not all jovial.

"I? My name is Offensive Bias, Admiral," it replied in the same, emotionless voice. Cole nodded shrewdly.

"You're a Monitor? Why are you commanding the Flood fleet?" he questioned, frowning. Offensive Bias chuckled once again.

"I fought them, once. Just like you are now, Admiral. Millions upon millions of their ships. I pitted my will against Mendicant Bias, and emerged victorious. And yet was I rewarded, or even praised? No. Instead I was assigned a very tedious task, which involved guarding Mendicant Bias for all eternity. Of course, some of his fragments became lost to me, but as long as I retained one he'd be unable to harm anyone. But then, you humans destroyed the Ark, and for a moment my security systems were shut down. This was all Mendicant Bias needed to escape my grasp. I was left without purpose."

"You're a machine. Your purpose is to serve," Cole answered tartly, glaring at the Monitor on the screen. An angry noise emanated from it.

"Is that so? Tell me, Admiral; how are you any more alive than I? Because you are flesh rather than metal? That means _nothing_, Reclaimer. I deserve life just as you do, and the Gravemind understands this. He was also abused and treated wrongly by his creators. And so, after many years of conflict, we have joined forces. And you shall all pay dearly."

Cole decided to stop questioning the AI regarding its motives; it was quite clearly rampant.

"How do you know who I am?" he instead asked.

"The Flood have assimilated many in their brief time here, Preston J. Cole, and I in turn have learnt. We know you. Your past. Your present. Your future. Your triumphs are impressive; your tactic involving slipspace ruptures was certainly inspired. I did not think organics were capable of such ingenuity and resolved. But you are doomed, Descendant of our hated foes. Surrender, and you shall be granted a quick and painless assimilation by the Flood; immortality for all."

Cole stuck his pipe in his mouth, staring up at the image of Offensive Bias on his screen.

"Anubis?" he demanded, unblinking. A smart AI wearing the avatar of the ancient Egyptian god of death appeared on a small pedestal.

"Yes, Admiral?"

"Kick this bastard out of the system."

The Monitor glowed an even darker and began to laugh grindingly.

"Then you shall all perish as we-" the image cut out along with the audio, and Anubis reported that it had completed its assigned task. Cole nodded, thanking the AI.

"What do we do?" Equanimity demanded, unable to keep the fear out of his voice. Cole realised it was up to him to keep order and control.

"If we let those ships engage our forces on the surface, they're doomed. We've got to keep them busy, until the Master Chief can destroy the Gravemind. We need to give everything, even if that means our lives! Am I understood?" he broadcast on a fleet-wide channel. After a few indecisive moments, he received affirmation from the ships in his fleets.

"We understand, human," R'tas replied, humbled. Cole nodded, staring down defiantly at the small fleet, which Cole suspecting wasn't comprised of Flood - rather machines.

"We need to assess the extent of their power. Fire at will."


	51. Chapter 51

**Part 51 - Sacrifice**

"Here we are," John murmured, extracting himself from the lifeless grasp of a dead elite combat form. The still corpse fell to the ground with a thud, joining nearly twenty of its comrades.

"It's about damn time," Johnson answered, stubbing his cigar on the wall. They looked up at the gigantic door before them, which was all that lay between them and the Gravemind's core. In a last desperate bid, the Mind had set some of its elite soldiers upon them, but they had soon fallen.

"The only thing to do now is open it," the Arbiter input, flexing his aching shoulders. Simultaneously, everyone turned to look at Mendicant Bias, who chuckled softly.

"I will need a few minutes," the golden Monitor replied, before drifting towards the door, placing itself before the holographic panel embedded within it. John nodded quietly, wanting to sit down and catch his breath but knowing it would be dangerous to do so. Everyone but his Spartans did so anyway, gasping for breath. Absently, John did a quick role call.

The two Brutes had been useful, their raw muscle and unique outlook had proven instrumental to success at times. They did however have a tendency to berserk when subjected to arduous and stressful conditions, which made them a little hard to control. Jahl, the cousin of R'tas, had also shown himself to be an admirable fighter, although he didn't speak much. The two Lights of Sangheilios on the other hand never stopped talking, although they were very insular, rarely conversing with anyone albeit themselves. Johnson was also a talkative one, and his Spartan I training and augmentations almost put him on an equal level with the others. His skills as a sharpshooter almost rivalled Linda's. Almost.

His Spartans, Fred, Linda and Kelly had, as always, fought like the killing machines they'd been made into alongside him. And yet still John felt almost detached from them, there no longer existed the bond there once had been. In comparison, John found himself often unconsciously talking with the Arbiter; it was odd, but he almost felt like he connected with the Sangheili better than he did with his own now.

Mendicant Bias had been rather distracted keeping the Gravemind's manipulative will at bay, and so hadn't spoken much.

Cortana, as always, felt as much a part of him as his hand, or gun did. She'd been unable to contact the surface due to the Gravemind blocking the signal, and had almost given up on the task. John could only hope things above were going well.

"I've hacked into the system, Reclaimer," Mendicant Bias suddenly informed him. "I will open the door when everyone is ready."

_This is it_, John thought grimly. _This is where we decide the future of our galaxy._ The Spartan stood tall, moving by the door, and facing his tired, weary and yet at the same time determined group.

"The Gravemind is inside that room, soldiers," he told them, feeling a small motivational speech was necessary. "We're in this alone, no-one is coming to help us. You all have to be the very best you can be, and it will be hard. We may all lose our lives here, but I swear that I will not stop breathing until the Gravemind is destroyed. Killing it is the priority. Do not flinch in the gaze of battle, or death. Billions, if not trillions of people are depending on us, and we will _not_ let them down. Are you all with me?"

He received multiple replies of affirmation, and was reassured by this. Everyone was on their feet now, weapons drawn and on the edge, ready to fight. John took a deep breath, and turned to Mendicant Bias.

"Open the door."

The Forerunner AI complied, activating the mechanism which operating the gargantuan door to the Gravemind's core, which slid open with an eerie hiss. John looked through the doorway and baulked.

Thousands of Flood soldiers were inside, facing them. But that wasn't his primary worry. In the centre of the room, on an elevated platform stood-

"A ship," the Arbiter breathed, eyes widening. "Oracle, what is happening?"

The huge Flood ship stood hundreds of metres tall, defying all who gazed upon it.

Mendicant Bias' voice was frantic. "The Gravemind has separated its core from the rest of itself. It's attempting to flee on that vessel. Hurry, I'll slow down the launch as best as I can!"

The strike team stepped into the room, and instantly a loud roar reverberated through the gigantic chamber like sound of howling wind surging through the mouth of a cave.

"Stop them!" the Gravemind roared, the voice clearly originating from within the ship. It was about half a mile away, down a large stretch of land covered by Flood. The legions surged forward, screaming in a feral manner.

"Chief," Linda stated, drawing out her sniper rifle. "You go ahead and get to that ship sir, we'll cover you for as long as we can."

"I won't leave you here," John protested vehemently.

"You must, Spartan," Galenus insisted, handling a heavy Brute shot. "The mission comes first."

"Besides, you're the second fastest of us here after me, Chief," Kelly input. "And that Juggernaut we ran into damaged my leg. You've got to go. We'll follow, and try and keep them at bay."

"I can't leave you. I'm the CO. It should be me who-" John continued to argue, but was suddenly cut off by the thunderous noise of huge engines firing up. The Gravemind's ship was firing up.

"They're right, Chief," Cortana told him. "You've got to go. At the very least, to secure an area for everyone to regroup in. Now move it, Spartan!"

Stealing one last guilty look at the rest of the resolute and determined strike team, John grabbed Mendicant Bias' chassis and ran towards the Gravemind's ship, accompanied by covering fire.

Flood lunged for him, but he dodged with an athletic grace, firing as he did so. He let rounds loose from his rifle, felling a few of the Flood who drew a little too close. Instinctively, he swung out with his left hand as something brushed against it, receiving a complaint from Mendicant Bias, who was effectively turned into a makeshift weapon.

Finally, he slid under the open legs of one of the Flood, rolling on the ground near the ship and drawing out his Symbiosis rifle, the ammunition for which he had been saving. He put the heavy stock in his hands, lined up, and opened fire, the plasma coated bullets impacted into the waves of Flood, keeping them at bay. Then he waited for a few minutes, looking up nervously at the imposing ship.

Suddenly, Fred, Kelly and Johnson broke through the ranks, gasping and letting rounds fly from their own weapons. John waited, but no more appeared.

"Where are the others?" John roared over the cry of the engine.

"The Flood got them. They're dead." John's heart plummeted.

"Linda too?" _Thel's dead?_ he added silently.

"Not yet. The Flood cornered her, but she managed to escape by climbing up a crumbled tower. She can't escape, but she's giving us covering fire. I tried to help her, but there were too many. We've got to leave!" Fred shouted back, motioning up at the ship, which was beginning to fire up its thrusters. The Spartan threw Johnson up onto the ramp of the elongated and triangular ship, and the Sergeant managed to grab hold of the rim, pulling himself up. John turned to face Fred.

"We can't just leave her!" he cried, anguish in his voice.

"Dammit John, she's already dead! We've got to go now; it's what Linda, and everyone else would have wanted!" Kelly screamed back, pointing up at the ship, which was beginning to lift off the ground.

"Listen to him Chief!" Johnson shouted down at them, leaning over the edge of the ship's rim.

_Go, Chief. The Gravemind has to be stopped,_ Cortana told him quietly. _I'm sorry._

John didn't trust himself to answer her, and merely nodded at Fred. The other Spartan grabbed his leg and heaved as John jumped, launching him a few more critical metres. John reached out with his hands and grabbed the rim desperately, feeling himself sliding off. Suddenly, he stopped, and looked up to see Johnson grabbing onto him with a strained fervour.

"Dammit Chief, I can't hold you for long! Climb up!" the Sergeant growled at him between cries of pain. John dug his hand deep into the metal hull of the ship, creating a handhold to pull himself up with. He made a herculean effort, and managed to get a secure footing on the ship, which was now beginning to rise. The next one to be thrown up was Kelly, who just about managed to grasp onto John's outstretched arm. John stared down at Fred.

"Jump!" he cried down desperately at his life long friend, who made an attempt to leap for the ship. His hands brushed against John's outstretched ones, and for an elated moment John thought he'd grabbed onto the other Spartan's hand. His hopes were dashed as Fred's hand desperately flailed against John's, before the Spartan fell heavily to the ground. The ship continued to rise even higher despite Mendicant Bias' efforts, dashing all hopes of Fred reaching it.

"It's no good, John!" Fred shouted up at him resolutely. "I'll stay here, and take as many of these bastards with me as I can." John shook his head, turning desperately to Mendicant Bias.

"Can't you help him?" John demanded desperately.

"He's too heavy for me to carry, Reclaimer, and the teleportation grid has been disabled by the Gravemind. I'm sorry."

John turned away from the monitor, tears in his eyes.

Then, another figure crashed through the heavy wall of Flood, who were now beginning to close in on the area the ship had once occupied. A golden flash of armour, and a burning blade of violet.

"Arbiter!" Fred called to the Elite, who picked up on the noise instantly. The Spartan shot a few Flood soldiers behind the Arbiter. "Come towards me, I'll give you a boost!"

The Arbiter nodded, although seemed a little concerned. "What about you?"

Fred shook his head grimly.

"I can't make it, and there's no way in hell you'd be able to throw me up. I can still help you though! What happened to the others?"

The Arbiter hung his head sadly.

"They're dead, Spartan. The Brutes died tackling a Juggernaut, Jahl threw himself on his own sword to stop the parasite infecting him, and Relg and Malkor, they - they died, saving me. I got careless, a group of Flood overwhelmed me. They helped me escape, but at the cost of their lives. Honour Guards to the end," the Elite answered bitterly, shaking his head.

Fred nodded, shoulders sagging a little.

"It's not your fault, Arbiter. Come on, hurry!"

The Arbiter ran, narrowly avoiding the clutches of the encompassing Flood forces. He charged towards the Spartan, who caught his legs and threw the Sangheili into the air. The Arbiter lunged with his hand for John, who was bent over the edge of the ship. This time, the two hands clasped firmly, and John grunted as he felt the Elite's considerable weight. Closing his eyes, he pulled the Arbiter up, using all his strength. In a few moments the Arbiter stood by him and Sergeant Johnson, grasping the edges of the ship desperately.

"We've got to get inside this ship, Chief!" Johnson told the shell-shocked Spartan, who nodded absently. The Arbiter passed him an energy sword, which he used to cut a hole in the ship's triple layered hull. Sombrely, John stole one last look at his life long friend .

"We'll never forget you, Fred," he shouted down, tears choking his voice. "Your death won't be in vain, I'll make sure of that."

Fred laughed, stabbing two approaching Flood forms in the head.

"Death? Don't you know, John? Spartans never die." Then the Spartan disappeared in a swarm of Flood, and vanished from John's sight. John stood at the precipice of the ship's rim, sighing. Then, depressed, he climbed inside the ship with the Arbiter, Johnson, Kelly and Mendicant Bias.

Kelly was slouched in the corner, being comforted by an uneasy looking Sergeant Johnson. The Arbiter approached John, head hung low.

"Spartan; I am so, so sorry," the Elite told him, placing a hand on his shoulder. John just shrugged him off, breathing deeply. A shield spawned in the area where the hull had been breached.

Only the four of them and Mendicant Bias had made it. Everyone else was dead, or worse. And there were two less Spartans in the galaxy. Gritting his teeth with anger, John drew out his rifle.

"Enough talk. We're going to go kill that bastard."

* * *

Fred could feel the mass of Flood on top of him, pounding into his energy shields. There was no way in hell he was going down without a fight. He braced himself, tightened the grip he had on his knives, and pushed the assailants of with a cry.

They fell sprawling to the ground, and the Spartan vaulted backwards, stealing a glance at the Gravemind's ship, which suddenly slammed into the roof of the room. The metallic roof buckled as the gigantic, heavy ship crashed through it, reaching for the surface.

_Good luck John,_ Fred projected quietly, before turning his attention to the matter at hand. Dozens of Flood forms had gathered around him in a circle, with thousands more watching with glee. Fred laughed, looking down at his knives and grinning.

"_You still there, Linda?_" he asked over a secure channel.

"_Barely. I see everyone else made it. I guess we're screwed,_" the Spartan sharpshooter answered from atop her crumbled pillar. A congregation of Flood had gathered at the base of it, and she was busy fighting those who dared to climb it off.

"_It looks that way. Well, we might as well go out in a blaze of glory,_" Fred answered, smiling. Linda chuckled quietly.

"_The HAVOK?_"

"_Hell yeah._"

There was silence for a few moments, before she answered firmly.

"_Do it. I'll give you covering fire. The Flood will learn that messing with Spartans is a bad idea._"

Fred grinned maliciously behind his visor, raising his knives.  
"_They certainly will. Let's have some fun first, eh?_"

"_Sounds good. Don't overdo it._"

He cut the communication, and shut his eyes for a few moments. He'd led a good life, and a beneficial one too. He'd saved thousands in his time, maybe millions. Fred wasn't afraid of death.

"Now," he spoke to the Flood soldiers, who were leering at him. "I've heard a lot of talk from you guys. You claim to be the perfect organisms and all, but I really don't see it. I mean, look at you. You're falling to pieces, literally. It's quite pathetic, really."

"You taunt that which you will soon become," one of them rumbled, stepping forward. It wore mismatched Elite armour, coupled with a UNSC helmet. Fred turned to it.

"Is that so?" he answered mockingly, systematically driving the heavy hilt of one knife into a Flood Stalker creeping up behind him. "Those are pretty big words coming from an awfully mutilated mouth. I see why the Gravemind kept you all out of sight down here; you're embarrassments. Go on, try me. I dare you."

The Flood form stepped forward angrily, and suddenly found that its head became separated from its torso as a sniper bullet zoomed across the room from atop a pillar, soaring through the Flood's cranium and not stopping. It tumbled to the ground before Fred's feet, who grimaced down at it.

"Well, you didn't last very long. Does anyone else care to try their luck?" he challenged the rest. The Flood soldiers exchanged a glance, and five of them surged forward. Fred leapt into action, engaging them with his long bladed combat knives aggressively, cutting through a maelstrom of flesh and bone, losing himself in the brutal art. Seconds later, they all lay on the ground, shredded to pieces.

"Oh, come on! Is this really the best you've got?"

Three more from the group surged forward, not even reaching him as a round from Linda's sniper rifle felled one, just before another shot fell two others. Fred was thoroughly enjoying himself now, even though he knew it wouldn't last. Eventually, the thousands of Flood soldiers would grow bored of this sport and open fire on him. But he didn't plan to let them do this.

"Now you see, here's the thing," he began, drawing the small HAVOK nuke from a protective cage on his bag. It was completely harmless - until it was armed. Then it would be turned into one of the most deadly portable nuclear weapons in humanity's disposal. Usually it would level the entire city of Vadam, but this far underground, Fred was pretty sure it would only destroy the Citadel. "I see all of you, facing me all smug and haughty, like you have the upper hand. This amuses me greatly."

As he brought the HAVOK into view, he saw concern and worry crease the faces of the Flood ranks

_Curious. The Flood seem to possess two different ownerships. The Gravemind being the more dominant and possessive one, but there seems to be a second as well. Almost a hive mind. And perhaps there is even a third, deeply repressed aspect to them; individuality._

A couple of them stepped forward anxiously, and were suddenly felled by Linda and her ever ready sniper rifle. Fred held up a hand warningly.

"I'd calm down if I were you. If I touch this button like this," he pressed the activation button on the side of the nuke. "And then speak this code," he then recited the security code which would prime the nuke, "then this once harmless hunk of metal becomes a very deadly, dangerous nuclear bomb. And oh dear, it just did didn't it?"

The Flood were wide eyed, aiming their weapons at him. Fred laughed, holding the football sized bomb out at arm's length.

"Steady on," he cautioned seriously. "My vital signs are linked to this bomb. I die, and it detonates. And I think you've assimilated enough people to know what it does. Oh, and incidentally, it's set to go off by itself in five minutes."

The thousands of Flood soldiers stared at him in horror for a few seconds, and then as one, surged forward to the exit of the room, pushing past each other frantically. Fred called after them, laughing maniacally.

"I was joking," he told them. "There's no need for a countdown whatsoever."

They turned to face him as one, staring at him with terror. He nodded.

"Yeah, you're screwed," he told them sincerely, activating the nuke. It pulsated dangerously, turning from green to yellow. When it reached red, it would detonate. The Flood howled with rage, some of them still attempting to flee. Fools.

"_Ready, Linda?_" he asked his lifelong friend sadly.

"_It's a little late for second thoughts now, Fred,_" she answered dryly. He laughed heartily, before sighing.

"_It's been an honour, Linda. To know you as both a soldier, and a friend,_" he finished, staring up at her on the pillar. She nodded.

"_Likewise, Fred. An honour._"

The HAVOK bomb turned red. Fred saw the bright light, heard the roaring sound, and then-

Darkness.


	52. Chapter 52

_I had hoped Insurrection would be completed by this chapter, but realised how long it was getting and so decided to write another chapter after this. _

**Part 52 - Aftermath**

_Fifteen minutes prior to the HAVOK's activation_

_Oh gods, my head,_ Relg moaned as he pulled himself up from the floor. He rubbed his temple, groaning. _What am I doing? Where am I supposed to-_

Relg bolted upright, memories flooding back to him in an instant. He looked around, expecting to see a hoard of Flood crowded around him, but noticed that they were some several hundred metres ahead, gathered around something; or someone. Their attention was completely singular; nobody had noticed him.

Tentatively, the Light of Sangheilios stood up, trying to remember more about what had happened. He remembered the Arbiter nearly getting speared by a Flood Juggernaut, remembered him tackling it with Malkor.

_Malkor!_ Relg suddenly cried out silently, looking around with panic. After a few moments, he located his friend, who was lying underneath a dead Flood form, motionless. Relg's heart constricted as he rushed over, shoving the Flood corpse away and checking Malkor's pulse.

There were a few dreadful moments. Then, suddenly, a beat. Followed by another. He was alive! Relg let out a sob of relief, before turning to the matter at hand. He stole another glance up at the Flood congregation in the distance, but their attention was still completely held. The Gravemind's ship seemed to have gone, vanished through a gigantic rupture in the ceiling. He hoped that the Demon and the others had managed to board it, although he knew for a fact that Jahl was dead, and possibly so were the Brutes.

"Malkor," he whispered hoarsely, accentuating his words with a slight shove. No response. Nervously, he checked his friend's pulse again, and was relieved to find it still pounding. "Malkor, wake up," he whispered louder, with a more violent shove. Suddenly, the other Light of Sangheilios stirred, eyes opening slightly. Relg made a silent prayer of thanks to the Forerunners.

"Relg?" Malkor asked weakly, coughing a little louder than Relg would have liked. Anxiously, he put his hand over the other Sangheili's mouth, muffling the sound.

"Not so boisterous my friend. Look ahead," he indicated, pointing at the Flood congress. A few cries of pain seemed to be coming from them. Malkor saw the legions of Flood forms and baulked.

"Gods above," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Have they noticed us?"

Relg grinned before answering, "No."

"Should we engage them?" Malkor questioned a little hesitantly. Relg gave him a blank stare.

"My friend, there are thousands of them. Can you stand up?"

Malkor shrugged, and attempted to rise to his feet. After a few aches and groans, he did so, albeit with a hobble. Relg supported him.

Suddenly, a wave of chatter broke out on the secure communications link.

"_You still there, Linda?_" a male voice asked nervously, with a hint of adrenaline in his voice. Relg and Malkor exchanged a glance. It sounded like the other male Spartan; not the Demon who had destroyed Halo.

"_Barely. I see everyone else made it. I guess we're screwed,_" a female voice replied, which was definitely human. That meant it was one of the female Spartans.

"_It looks that way. Well, we might as well go out in a blaze of glory,_" the male answered with a laugh. Relg and Malkor exchanged a nervous glance, before Relg attempted to patch in to the communications channel. No luck. He looked inquisitively at Malkor, who shook his head. They were listeners only.

"_The HAVOK?_" the female guessed. Relg felt his heart constrict.

"Malkor? Is not a HAVOK a human nuclear bomb?" he asked his friend in a tiny voice. Malkor nodded with dread.

"_Hell yeah._"

There were a few horrible moments of silence, before the female replied once gain.

"_Do it. I'll give you covering fire. The Flood will learn that messing with Spartans is a bad idea._"

The link cut out, and Malkor spoke up.

"I think we should leave, Relg," the Light of Sangheilios began. Relg found himself nodding in agreement, moving towards the exit.

"That sounds like a plan, my friend. The two Demons sound like they are in inextricable positions. Let us move."

The two began to hurry towards the great opening which had led them into the room, moving quickly and efficiently, with clarified grace. They moved past a large pile of Flood bodies, but were stopped in their tracks when they heard a gravelly moan originating from the pile of corpses. Relg looked at Malkor, and the two seemed to be on the same train of thought. Drawing out plasma repeaters, they both approached the bodies nervously, and waited a second. Then they heard the groan once again.

Relg began shifting the bodies, covered by Malkor. He dragged them away, exerting himself, until finally he located the source of the noise.

"Galenus?" he demanded incredulously, working harder to shift the bodies. The Jiralhanae coughed, before nodding feebly.

"Malkor, help me," Relg ordered, grabbing one of Galenus' arms and attempting to pull him out from the heavy mass of corpses. His fellow Light of Sangheilios grabbed the other arm, and together with a combined effort they extracted the Jiralhanae, pulling the large brute to his feet.

"Thank you," Galenus gasped. "I feared I would be left there."

"We can talk as we move," Relg snapped back, jogging towards the exit with Malkor. Galenus blinked for a few seconds, before running after them with long, powerful strides.

"What's wrong?" the Jiralhanae asked them between breaths.

"Two of the Demons survive, but they are trapped. One of them plans to activate a HAVOK bomb," Malkor explained quickly and sharply. There was an audible gasp from Galenus.

"We'll never make it out in time!" he protested. Relg smiled grimly.

"I think the Demons plan to taunt the Flood first. As long as we reach a high enough level, we should escape the actual blast. Then all we have to worry about is-"

"A collapsing building," Galenus finished with a despondent tone. "That's _all_ we have to worry about?"

Relg shrugged, heart pounding. A few minutes later, they reached the exit with some relief. But they were still in danger. And so, despite the protesting of their muscles, the trio moved on, retracing their steps and ascending up the large, spiralling stone staircases.

"What happened to the other Jiralhanae?" Relg asked Galenus, the speech reassuring him that he hadn't died of exhaustion.

"My brother is dead," Galenus replied stiffly, with masked grief in his voice as he ran. "We both charged the Juggernaut, and then Linus pushed me away. He killed it, just before succumbing to a mortal wound. What happened to the others?"

The three reached the ground level, finally breaking free of the underground. Relg felt a heavy weight lift off his chest; the blast would no longer be able to reach them. There was still the danger of the Citadel collapsing though. The main door would no doubt be heavily guarded however. They'd have to ascend a few more levels and escape through a window on the higher tiers.

"Jahl threw himself on his blade when he knew he'd been infected, Forerunners preserve his soul," Malkor began. "As for the rest, we know not. Two of the Spartans are back down below, about to ignite a cleansing flame throughout this Citadel. We can only hope the others made it to the Gravemind's ship."

They passed the first floor, and Relg felt a pang as he remembered many a childhood day spent around this area as he was trained to be a Light of Sangheilios. The Flood had ruined his planet, and for that he hated them.

Without any warning, the communications channel was awash with voices once again. Relg's blood ran cold, and he moved faster.

"_Ready, Linda?_" the male Demon questioned to who was undoubtedly the female.

"Move!" Relg barked, spotting an open window at the far end of the room they had emerged into. There were only a few Flood soldiers guarding it.

"_It's a little late for second thoughts now, Fred,_" the female Demon, Linda, answered with what sounded like a sigh.

Relg brought his plasma repeater up to eye level and began to open fire on the startled Flood forms, who hastily reached for their own weapons. Malkor and Galenus also opened fire, needler rounds and spikes surging from them respectively. They ran, yearning to reach the window and safety.

"_It's been an honour, Linda. To know you as both a soldier, and a friend,_" the male Demon finished. Relg knew what was coming next. He barged into two of the Flood forms, drawing a few long bladed knives from the sheaths on his thighs, wrestling with them for a few moments. He felt a sharp tendril pierce his shoulder, and retaliated with a swipe of his own, which hit the infection form nestled within the body.

"_Likewise, Fred. An honour._"

A huge roar of sound boomed from far beneath them, and Relg knew the HAVOK had been activated. Cracks began to appear down the walls, and beams and walls began to collapse. Relg pushed the final Flood form away, and it was crushed by a shattered and falling chandelier.

"Everybody out!" Relg commanded, shepherding Malkor and Galenus to the window. Cracks were beginning to line the floor the trio was standing on. Malkor lunged through the window, quickly disappearing from site as gravity took hold of him. Galenus climbed on the ledge, and prepared to jump himself.

Then, the stone flow collapsed, and Relg felt himself fall. Desperately, he groped out with his hand, and managed to grasp something. He looked up, and saw Galenus staring down at him intently, teeth bared as he strained to hold on whilst remaining balanced on the window ledge.

"Hold on to my hand!" the Jiralhanae roared down at him, the muscles in his arm bulging precariously.

"Thanks for the advice!" Relg answered back dryly. The Citadel was collapsing around them, more and more floors caving in and more sections of the ceiling falling.

Galenus gave one last titanic effort, and managed to pull Relg up onto the ledge. The momentum nearly knocked him off, but the Sangheili steadied him.

"You saved me," Relg uttered in surprise. Galenus huffed.

"A hatred of Sangheili isn't necessarily a prerequisite of being a Jiralhanae, I hope you realise. Now come, let's jump before this place completely collapses.

Together, the two launched themselves from the ledge of the Citadel, into the masses below.

* * *

_Five minutes prior to the HAVOK's activation_

"You shall be escorted to a designated area, where you shall be granted a quick and painless assimilation. Resistance shall be met with a sudden and quite painful assimilation," one of the Flood commanders roared as the survivors of the battle were handcuffed, their weapons taken from them.

They'd held out for a while, to their credit. But eventually, the Flood's superior numbers had won. And now everyone would be turned.

The Didact wasn't manacled, and was instead thrown to his knees before an imposingly tall and masked Flood form. It sneered down at him, and the Forerunner knew it had just become imbued with the Gravemind's persona. The Gravemind's possessed form hoisted the Didact into the air with constricting tendrils.

"You see, my ancient foe? Even now, I hasten to another world, to leave this putrid rock. And my fleets shall raze this planet to the ground," the Gravemind gloated arrogantly.

The Didact had been about to reply, when suddenly out of the top of the Citadel, a gigantic ship miles long soared from it, reaching up to the skies. It nearly deafened him. The aesthetics were a combination of Human, Covenant, Forerunner and even Precursor designs; a hideous collage, just like the Gravemind.

"You're fleeing?" the Didact asked impenitently, staring up at the ship as it neared the edge of the atmosphere.

"There is no reason for me to remain whilst you, like ants biting at the ankles, do continue to persist with your petty attempts at stopping my might. Your Master Chief has failed, as has the rest of his team. You have lost, and those you placed your trust in have- what do you mean?"

"Excuse me?" the Didact asked, bemused by this sudden self-interruption. The Gravemind's gaze grew distance as the Flood form he controlled stooped a little, no longer looking at him.

"_They're on the ship?_" the Gravemind roared, drowning out the roaring noise of his own ship as it ascended further still. The voice originated not from the Flood form the Didact had been facing, and his voice was tended with fear. "_Kill them, or I shall rend the flesh from your bones!_

The Didact felt himself break out into a grin. Some of the strike team had managed to board the Gravemind's ship.

"Trouble in paradise, Gravemind?" he questioned coyly. The Flood form he directed his speech to suddenly drew itself up again.

"I have had enough of your insolence, Didact!" it replied angrily, the calm aura usually associated with the Gravemind completely absent. It drew a Covenant energy sword from its side, and activated it, raising it high. "You have lived far too long! The last of the Forerunners dies here, by my hand!"

Fortunately, that was when the Citadel of Vadam exploded.

A huge explosion leapt up behind the Didact, the shockwave sending everybody crashing to the ground. The foundations of the Citadel creaked and twisted, as the huge structure crashed to the ground, flattening nearly half of the Flood army.

The being the Gravemind was possessing also tumbled heavily to the floor, releasing the Didact as it did so. The energy sword in its hand spun through the air, before deftly being caught by the now upright Forerunner. He activated its burning blade, pointing it down at the possessed Flood form, who laid sprawled on its back.

Similar situations rippled throughout the entire army, as soldiers being led by Flood forms were suddenly freed. Many managed to rearm themselves, and kill their would-be-captors. Soon enough, the battle raged on once again.

"Well, wasn't that fortunate?" the Didact breathed heavily, placing his boot heavily on the Flood form's neck. "The tide just turned, Gravemind."

The Flood form chuckled, despite the Forerunner's boot cutting off a lot of its oxygen supply.

"And it shall ebb back towards my favour soon enough, _Didact_. Enjoy your final moments," the Gravemind replied, and a sudden dulling of the eyes and drooping of the head told the Forerunner that his ultimate enemy was no longer in direct control of the body beneath him.

"What-" the Flood form, no longer repressed by the Gravemind's will, croaked in confusion, before being interrupted by the Didact plunging the energy sword into its chest resolutely. It gargled as blood surged up its throat for a few second, eyes wide as it attempted to remove the sword from its body. All it accomplished was severing its own hands.

It struggled for a few more gory moments, before relaxing, and falling limp to the ground. The Didact removed the sword from its torso, not a moment before another Flood form attempted to attack him from behind. He elbowed it in the face, smiling as he heard the satisfying crunch of bone. Then, with a few deft and elegant movements, he disembowelled the foul beast.

The Citadel had by now completely come crashing down, spewing dust and debris across the entire battlefield. The Didact could hardly see anything, and could only hear the war waging around him. He took a few tentative steps forward.

Suddenly, a small object lunged at him from the ground, impacting him on the chest. Too late did he realise what it was. The infection form plunged a razor sharp tendril through his unshielded armour, burrowing into his flesh with dogged intent. The Didact's strength instantly left him, and he fell to his knees with a strangled gasp, futilely attempting to beat the infection form away.

His efforts were wasted. He gasped in horror as another tendril plunged through his armour, firmly anchoring the infection form to his body. Any moment now it would inject the cells which would turn him into one of them. He could hear the ominous sound of the Gravemind laughing triumphantly in the back of his mind.

And then, in an instant, it was gone. The Didact felt the weight on his torso vanish, sensation and awareness returned to him again.

"Do you think it infected him?" the voice of a Sangheili questioned dimly.

"It's wholly possible, Malkor."

"Do we kill him then?"

The Didact fought to regain control of his body, and sat straight up, eyes opening with shock.

"Wait!" he shouted in protest as a plasma rifle was squarely aimed at him by a tall Sangheili garbed in ornate armour. The other Sangheili held a limp Flood infection form in his hand. Most interestingly, he was stood next to a Jiralhanae, assessing the situation calmly with burly arms folded. "I'm not infected!"

The Sangheili holding the infection form cocked his head suspiciously.

"How can we know that for sure?" The Didact realised from the voice that this was Malkor.

"I suppose you can't. You'll just have to trust me, child," he answered softly, inwardly groaning. Would he really be killed now by a few suspicious Sangheili?

"Well, Relg?" Malkor asked his companion, who was breathing in deeply.

"I don't know. Just tie him up, and move him out of the way until we-"

"Enough!" a voice shouted from over the Didact's shoulder. It took him a few moments to realise who the voice belonged to. Tom moved into view, alongside Lucy. His posture showed he was livid, as did the rifle he aimed squarely at Malkor. "What the hell do you three think you're doing?"

The Jiralhanae then held his hands up, placating.

"Lower your weapon, friend. We came across this man in a dire situation, with one of the parasite infection forms eagerly burrowing into his chest. We destroyed it, yet we are unsure as to the extent of the damage."

"I told them - I'm _not_ infected," the Didact protested weakly, still a little shaken from his close shave with the infection form. Did these people not have technology which could quickly scan for signs of infection?

"I believe you, Didact," Tom answered, offering him a helping hand. The Forerunner accepted it, and was pulled up to his feet. At the word 'Didact', the two Sangheili and Jiralhanae had exchanged quick and furtive looks. Suddenly, they threw themselves before him, in an act which looked like worship.

"Forgive us, holy Forerunner. We did not know," Malkor wailed, sounding distraught.

_It's going to take a long time to break these people of this habit,_ the Didact thought despondently. He looked down at their worship with distaste for a few seconds, before finally not being able to handle it any more.

"Oh, get up," he told them with disgust. "I'm not a God."

"Whatever you say, Lord," Relg replied, rising to his feet with the other two. The Didact shook his head in despair, before turning to face the newly arrived Spartan IIIs. The particles of dust around them were beginning to clear slightly.

"Where are the Flood?" the Forerunner asked in confusion, noticing a lack of battle. Lucy pointed mutely over his shoulder. He turned, to see faint, dark shapes fleeing in the distance. Tom laughed.

"We fought them off," he crowed with success, his words echoing the many soldiers on the battlefield who were cheering and shouting curses at the fleeing Flood soldiers. The Didact shook his head.

"They'll be back," he muttered quietly, almost to himself. "They always come back." He then raised his voice slightly. "Where are the leaders of this army?"

A marine medic treated the wounded heard his words, and looked up.

"They're in the monastery sir, or whatever the building is called," the medic told him. Relg sniffed haughtily.

"Grand Sanctum, human," he corrected in annoyance. The marine just shrugged.

"How should I know what you call your places of worship? Now if you don't mind, I'm busy treating the wounded," he answered in annoyance. The Jiralhanae suddenly stepped forward, his hulking form casting a shadow over the medic.

"If you don't mind, I shall help you. I am well trained as a field medic," the Jiralhanae told the medic, who nodded thankfully. "Thank you for saving my life, Relg and Malkor. I'm sure I shall see you soon."

The two Sangheili nodded modestly.

"And thank you for saving my own, Galenus," Relg answered graciously. "Now, revered one. Do you want me to escort you to the Grand Sanctum?"

The Didact realised the Sangheili was speaking to him, and he nodded.

"I would appreciate that greatly, Relg."

The devastation to the city was immense, and not just because of the Citadel collapsing. Buildings had been ravaged by tanks and ballistic weaponry, the ground was stained with multiple colours of blood. Craters ravaged the city, tearing massive holes in pavements and roads. And the stench of death was especially pungent. Medics were running back and forth, whilst soldiers were tasked with the job of putting down any Flood forms still alive and writhing.

The Citadel was in pieces. A huge wreckage piled up dozens of feet tall, burning intensely. The metre in the Didact's combat skin was warning him of heightened radiation in the vicinity around it.

"Tom, would you please check that the Captain is okay? I'm fairly confident that 343 kept him safe, but it would be nice to know for sure," the Didact asked the Spartan III as they walked through the ruined city, who nodded immediately.

"Sure thing. Lucy, come with me in case something happens," he replied, before darting off quicker than the eye could follow along with the other Spartan III.

"I wonder what happened to the Citadel. Perhaps the Gravemind leaving on his ship collapsed it," the Didact wondered aloud. To his right, Malkor turned to him with surprise.

"Actually, two of the human demons activated some kind of nuclear device," the Sangheili told him. The Forerunner focused on him with surprise.

"How do you know that?"

"We were there," Malkor replied casually, indicating Relg.

"You _were_?"

"Yes. We only just managed to escape the Citadel before it was felled," Relg answered, seeming eager to please his 'deity.'

"Who made it onto the Gravemind's ship?" the Didact demanded, heart in his throat.

"Few, I am afraid. The Demon, the Arbiter, Mendicant Bias and the human, Sergeant Johnson," Malkor replied. The Didact felt his shoulders sag a little. Only three plus Mendicant? They stood no chance against the Gravemind.

"Which Demon?" he asked next, knowing that many Sangheili and Covenant referred to all Spartans as 'Demons.'

"_The_ Demon. The one who destroyed Halo," Relg told him.

"The Master Chief?"

"I believe so. The rest, unfortunately, perished."

The Didact bowed his head, muttering a small prayer for the dead. He was no longer a religious man; not after what he'd seen the Flood do to his people, but old habits died hard.

"Then we must hope that the three can vanquish the Gravemind," he replied, as they turned another street corner, walking past a large fire. Soldiers were tossing dead Flood bodies into it, attempting to clear the area a little. Many of them seem worried, fearing the Flood would soon come back. The Didact shared their fears.

"I would trust the Arbiter with my life," Relg said proudly, thumping his chest. "The same blood flows through our veins, regardless of how many generations and schisms have diluted it. The Demon is a fearsome warrior who terrifies even I, and no doubt the Gravemind is afraid of him too. As for Johnson, well, he's one of the most vicious non-demonic humans I have ever met. I am sure that together, they shall triumph."

_Look at them. Full of optimism, and hope. They don't properly understand what will happen if we feel today. We will be forced to once again activate Halo, and this time, nobody will be safe on the Ark. It will take billions of years for sentient life to return to the galaxy._

"Holy one?" Malkor suddenly asked, sounding tentative. Despite the abhorred honorific phrase the Sangheili termed him with, the Didact faced him with a soft smile.

"Yes, child?" he asked wearily.

"Are you truly the last of the Forerunners?"

The Didact sighed, shaking his head sadly. He'd tried not to think of it, but often the thought of being the last of his people arose, depressing him immensely. He was a fossil; someone who deserved to be in a museum. The survivor of an extinct race.

"I truly do not know. It's possible that some of my people survived, somewhere. If they did, I don't know about them. As far as I know, I am the last."

Relg's eyes widened, frown burrowing deep into his head.

"But, you're immortal. How can your people die?"

The Didact laughed sharply, quickly stripping off the armour on his left arm. A large welt oozing crimson blood streaked down it.

"I am not a God, as I have said. You may find it hard to believe, but it is true. I bleed, I feel, I age, I possess no divine powers. And one day, I too shall die."

"So. . . the Covenant lied about the Forerunners, too? You're not... you didn't-" Malkor whispered, tears in his eyes. Immediately the Didact felt bad about what he had just said. This was their centripetal force in life, and he had dismissed it with a scoff.

"Religion manifests in strange ways, sometimes, my child. Is there some greater being out in the universe? Perhaps. We once worshipped beings like you did, only to find that they were mere mortals like us," the Didact answered, stealing a melancholy glance at a human major barking orders to his troops. "But life does not have to be powerful or divine to be mystical and wondrous. In my eyes, all of you fighting today are as strong as gods."

He turned to the two Sangheili, who had fallen oddly silent.

"I understand you, Didact," Relg told him with a sad tone. "It pains me to admit it, but ever since we discovered the true purpose of Halo, I've had my doubts about your peoples' divinity. You merely solidified those doubts. There will be people who think of you as a God despite what you tell them, however."

"If I die in this battle, I doubt that will happen," the Didact joked morbidly. Suddenly, a looming shadow cast over him, and he looked up to see a majestically grand building standing tall and imposing. Sloping, smooth metals made up the walls of the gargantuan monument, with very little damage incurred to it. The only thing torn from their resting place were the glass windows.

"The Grand Sanctum," Malkor introduced with awe in his voice.

"Who's it built to worship-" the Didact began, before being cut off by Relg and Malkor's heads snapping to face him. "Ah."

"It's one of the oldest buildings in all of beloved Sangheilios. It's heartening to know it still stands, despite the tarnishing of the parasite scum. Come, if that human was right, then the people you seek are inside," Relg elaborated, before marching up to the large front door, secured by a heavy wooden barrier inset into the metal. The door was also protected by an energy barrier in front of it. As they drew closer, they were stopped by two Honour Guards.

"I'm sorry, you are not allowed in here," the one on the right told them. Relg stepped forward self importantly, drawn up and haughty.

"Good day, Veran," he greeted cheerfully. "I see they finally made you an Honour Guard, congratulations. Did my instruction help?"

"Relg!" the Honour Guard on the left replied with enthusiasm and shock. "I thought you were dead!"

"I don't have the time to die, Veran," Relg answered dryly. "We need to enter, could you please make an exception? As you can see, we are clearly not infected."

Veran looked sidelong at the other Honour Guard, who shrugged in resignation. After a few moments, Veran nodded, lowering the energy barrier.

"Go along then, I owe you this much Relg. Don't blame me if you get thrown out though," he answered, as Malkor unlatched the heavy wooden door, opening it.

"We won't, Veran. Keep up the good work," Relg answered, slipping inside the Sanctum with Malkor and the Didact. The heavy doors closed behind them with a resounding and deafening thud, making the Didact jump a little.

He looked around at the interior of the building. It all seemed very holy and sacred. The aesthetics were vaguely reminiscent of many Forerunner designs, he noticed with a chill. Blue streaks of light ran down the walls, emulating the power couplings his people had employed. Light grey metal was used, which, whilst not the same alloy as the artificially created almost indestructible one his people had used, was still eerily similar. He almost expected to see Sentinels come flying around a corner.

"Wow," was all he was able to manage, spoken in a monotonous and dumb voice. He ran a hand down the walls fondly. "You really did worship us."

"Yes," was all Malkor could reply in a choked voice. Relg noticed his upset, and deftly changed the subject.

"The main hall is just up ahead. Come."

The three climbed the slight slope leading up to a grand hallway similar to the ones the Didact himself had personally designed. This was just a copy, but real ones were designed to deploy impenetrable energy barriers at the speed of light in the event of an outbreak. He smiled at it.

Soon, they entered the main hall, which was just as grand as anything his people had ever designed. What seemed like an energy walkway bridged the gap between the entrance at the centre, and for a moment the Didact was impressed that the Covenant had devised such technology at such a low tier. Then he noticed that it was merely a glass bridge with light overlain across it. He smiled at its quaintness, before walking over.

In the centre of the room sat a large glass table, the design also clearly Forerunner. Sat at it were several key members of the ground attack, including the human leader, Colonel Miles, and the Covenant Hierarch Daedalus. A Sangheili High Councillor was also seated. The Didact felt it a little wrong that only these three main races were allowed to be represented. For a moment the age old urge he'd had to meddle in others' affairs arose, before being silently quashed.

"Is that you, Didact?" Miles shouted at him from the table in confusion. The other two leaders were also facing him, Relg and Malkor. The Didact removed his helmet, scratching with annoyance at the short white beard which had sprouted over the few days. He'd spent too much of his life and war, and the feel of air against bare skin felt strange to him.

"It is I," he answered curtly, approaching the table. Relg and Malkor had looked at each other, before taking up a post at either side of the light bridge, unconsciously standing like guards. The Didact placed his hands on the table, leaning on it. He noticed with distaste that his arms were completely drenched in a mixture of dry and fresh blood. With a few presses, he started the automatic cleaning process, and tiny nanobots similar in composition to the Huragok deployed from pouches in his arms and began to scrub and cleanse. The Didact noticed the three leaders staring with awe and the process, and realised that they had no technology like that.

_This presents a dilemma. Do I teach these people what I know, or do I let them advance by their own merits? Both options have advantages and disadvantages,_ he thought with absent worry, before banishing it from his mind.

"What are you doing here?" Miles continued, perplexed. Daedalus and the Sangheili Councillor were quiet and subdued around him. "You're supposed to be at Halo. . . the Flood didn't overwhelm you, did they?"

The Didact laughed.

"No, don't worry child. There are no Flood outbreaks at Halo. Not yet, anyway. But it shan't remain like that for long; is Offensive Bias really sided with the Flood?"

The three leaders at the table nodded grimly, shoving some reports towards him. The Didact glanced at them, and was worried. Offensive Bias was using advanced technology against them, very similar to what the Forerunners had once used. There were very few ships, but in this case that didn't matter. It was ironic that the being he had created to vanquish a corrupted AI was now corrupted himself. It was was even more ironic that Mendicant Bias was now on their side.

"This Admiral in charge of the fleet; Cole," the Didact began. "What's he like?"

Miles broke out into a grin, and a slight tinge of awe and fear crossed over Daedalus' and the Councillor's faces.

"He's a legend, Didact. He destroyed over three hundred Covenant ships in the war, with inferior firepower, resources, intelligence, and numbers. A tactical genius. If anyone can pull this off, it's him."

"That's good to know. What are you doing now?"

Daedalus had regained his voice, and leaned forward. He still didn't meet the Didact in the eyes though.

"We have vanquished the parasite, who now flee like Thornbeast in the midst of a hunt," the Jiralhanae Hierarch began gleefully in his rumbling, impossibly deep voice. "We are tending to the wounded, and then we will quickly establish surface based cannons to shoot down Offensive Bias' scows."

The Didact frowned, and looked between the three leaders, who were nodding at Daedalus' words. He began to shake his head in concern.

"No, the Flood haven't been vanquished. They're just regrouping, and recouping their numbers. Keep tending to the wounded, but stop the construction of the cannons. There's time for that later. Right now you need to build fortifications and secure this city," he told them with a sense of urgency, his heart plummeting. He knew all too well the dangers of underestimating the Flood.

Colonel Miles stood up, smiling. He walked over to the Didact, and put a friendly hand on his shoulder with a reassuring expression on his face.

"Didact, I assure you. Not even the Flood would be as foolish as to attack us now. They'd have to be suicidal to even consider-"

Then, with perfect timing, two figures burst through into the hall. The Didact turned around and smiled when he saw Tom and Lucy. His smile faded when he noticed their movements; restricted, constrained, tense.

"What is it?" the Didact asked Tom, concerned etching his already heavily lined brow. Tom stopped before him, gasping; he must have exerted himself considerably. Spartans didn't get tired easily.

"I went to check on the Captain as you asked. Don't worry, he's fine. As Lucy and I were heading out though, we heard something. There's a huge Flood army heading for us, as large as it was before. They're chanting."

"_Already_?" Miles exploded, flustered. The other two leaders at the table were also stricken. The Didact looked at the human Colonel sideways, giving him an 'I told you so' glance he'd often used with some of his younger subordinates in the Eternal War.

"It's as I said, child. The Flood do not tire. They only push onward," the Didact answered.

"What do we do?" the Councillor wondered, panicky.

"I've had experience with this sort of situation," the Didact answered. "With your permission, I'd like to assume control of our forces."

There were a few moments of silence as the three leaders murmured to each other, discussing what he had proposed. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, they turned to face him.

"Permission granted," the trio replied simultaneously.

"Then I'd better hurry," the Didact replied with a thankful nod, before turning sharply on his heel, and jogging back towards the light bridge. As he crossed it, he heard Relg, Malkor, Tom and Lucy follow him.

"You think you can do it?" Tom asked him curiously, sounding doubtful. The Didact shrugged.

"Perhaps. We have the advantage this time around. It won't be the first time I've beaten them when the odds have been stacked against me."

"We'll watch your back," Relg told him softly.

"Thanks. I'll need that before this is over."

* * *

_Twenty minutes before the HAVOK's activation_

Admiral Preston J. Cole paced up and down his observation deck, eyes shut tight and brain overclocking. Offensive Bias' ships were seemingly invincible. Rounds glanced off their shields, and their attacks cut through Cole's ships like scissors through paper. But Cole knew nothing was invincible. Everything had a weakness. Nothing was infallible. And so it must be with Offensive Bias' ships.

They were maintaining a shield strength that just wasn't possible, even with advanced technology like that. Theoretically, no one ship could ever formulate such a powerful and sturdy barrier. Suddenly, Cole paused in his movement, and whirled around to stare out of his observation window again.

"Let loose an ARCHER at one of their ships," he ordered, not taking his eyes of the enemy ships for a fraction of a second, despite the sheer amount of Seraphs, Longswords, Sabres and other space craft flying around attacking the Sentinels.

"Sir?" Ensign Hall questioned with perplexity.

"Just the one, Ensign. Now," Cole repeated the order softly, breathing in deeply and slowly. If he was right, then he might of just found the Achilles Heel of Offensive Bias.

The ARCHER missile fired from the _Hastings_, like so many others had before. This time though, Cole didn't take his eyes off the ships at all, he didn't even blink. The SHIVA impacted against one of the enemy ships, but Cole wasn't watching that one. Instead, he was glaring at another close to it.

The shields of the attacked shields shimmered, and then-

There!

For the briefest millisecond, the shields of the other ship had shimmered too. Cole wanted to be absolutely sure first.

"Again, Hall," he barked, not even turning around.

"Aye, sir," the Ensign had learnt by now to accept his orders without question. Another ARCHER cut through the black space, spinning until it impacted against the same ship-

There it was again! The other ship's shields shimmered for a millisecond when the ARCHER had smashed into a completely different one.

"One more time, but at a ship on the opposite side of their fleet."

This time, the ship he was watching didn't shimmer. That implied they were in groups. Cole felt like pumping the air. He had them.

"I've found their weakness," he declared with a triumphant smile. Every eye in the room turned to face him with immovable trust and adulation. It never failed to shake him.

"What is it, sir?" a second Lieutenant asked him eagerly. Cole grinned wryly.

"They're linking shields. I don't know how, but somehow they're combining the strength of their shields. In small groups too."

"So that means we should-" one of his Ensigns began, before being interrupted by the Admiral's elation and excitement.

"Concentrate on one group at a time. Broadcast this information to every ship in the fleet; make sure it's secure. I don't want Offensive Bias to know we're onto his trick until we show him."

Five minutes later, every ship under Cole's command was aware of the situation. Now it was time to use the knowledge to their advantage. The Admiral straightened his cap, wiping fresh beads of sweat from his brow.

"Everyone, when I give the order concentrate on the ship I'm highlighting on the battle network. I want _every_ ship in the fleet to concentrate on it," Cole commanded over the fleetcom confidently.

"_Cole, this is insane even for you!_" Equanimity barked back, his usually reserved disposition vanishing under stress. "_Offensive Bias' other ships will have clear shots at us!_"

"We're getting slaughtered anyway, you idiot. Comply with my command like you agreed Prophet," Cole snapped back, and was satisfied to see Equanimity flinch on the screen.

"_If you're wrong, Cole. I swear to the almighty Forerunners-_"

"Just be ready, Prophet."

He waited for a lapse in their attack, and then, taking a sip of water, acted.

"Open fire!"

Suddenly, and almost comically, every ship in Admiral Cole's fleet swivelled, turning to face one very unlucky ship. And then, they opened fire as one. Thousands of projectiles soared through the darkness, impacted against the shields of that one ship. Cole nodded with satisfaction as he saw the shields of other ships shimmer also, much more clearly now.

Seconds passed, and he began to grow worried. A dozen beams of energy were let loose from Offensive Bias' fleet, shearing nearly twenty of Cole's ships in half. Equanimity let out a strangled noise, but still kept concentrating.

"It's not working, Admiral!" Hall shouted, fear in her voice. Cole frowned, nervous. Had he gotten it wrong? What if his theory proved to be incorrect? The lives of everyone in his fleet would be forfeit. Thirty more seconds passed, seventeen more of his ships were lost.

Then, suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light which tore into his eyes. The shields of the ship they'd been concentrating on broke. And it wasn't the only one.

"Sir, I'm reading one ship without- two, three, no wait- four- six- seven ships! I repeat sir, seven enemy ships are without shields!"

"I was right," Cole uttered with a little gasp of shock.

"Hell yeah you were right! ...sir. What are your orders?"

A malicious glint entered his eye, and for the first time since Offensive Bias had arrived victory seemed once again achievable.

"Wipe them out. Then concentrate on the next group, same as before."

Without shields, the MAC rounds, nuclear missiles and plasma projectiles speared through the ships of Offensive Bias like a hot knife through butter. In less than two minutes, all seven ships without shielding had been wiped out.

"Sir, we've got a new contact approaching from Sangheilios!" an Ensign in charge of navigation uttered with a cry. "She's a big one!"

Cole rushed to the window, and saw a hideous looking wreck of a ship which was three times the size of his own. It was travelling fast.

"I'm getting some chatter sir, from that incoming ship! Patching you through!"

Cole raised his hand to his ear, and prepared to receive the communications.

"_Admiral Cole_?" a deep voice asked. A rather familiar one. Cole searched his memory for a second, and recognised it.

"Master Chief? What the hell are you doing on that ship?"

"_Putting an end to this war. The Gravemind is on board. Do not attempt to destroy this vessel, under any circumstances. Try to delay it from entering slipspace for as long as you can, maybe damage it._"

Cole stood still for a few moments, before turning around. His bridge crew were watching him expectably. He frowned.

"You heard the man! Deploy Longsword, Sabres, Seraphs, everything you can to distract that ship for as long as possible!"

"What about Offensive Bias' ships, sir?" Hall asked him.

"Ignore them, they're mostly being blocked by that monster of a ship anyway. I want you to focus everything on that ship; target engines, navigation, slipspace cores, everything! Just make sure you don't destroy it." Cole rubbed his aching temples, glaring at the ship with hatred. "The Gravemind is on board that derelict piece of junk, people. This ends here, now."


	53. Chapter 53

Okay, this is growing really long and honestly I think you've been patient enough. I'm going to post Chapter 53 now, and afterwards will follow the Epilogue, which I'm still writing. Nothing has been cut, and this is Chapter 53 as it would have appeared had it been posted alongside the Epilogue. I just feel that it's unfair to make you wait any longer.

So without further ado, here we are. The journey's end.

**Part 53 - Descent into Mortality**

John smashed his hand into the strange, semi-organic metal floor of the Gravemind's ship, which was rising at a completely vertical angle. Immediately he came to a jarring halt, and stared down at the oxygen barrier with dread. The barrier kept a steady level of oxygen in the ship, but objects - and people - could pass through it. With his other gauntleted hand, he held on to the flailing Arbiter. Kelly had done likewise, and had grasped Sergeant Johnson's hand in a bone crushing grip. Mendicant Bias was floating near them, not even looking at them.

"Do something Mendicant!" John shouted at the inactive Monitor with anger, who turned to him.

"John, I'm currently battling the Gravemind to stop him from completely destroying this section of the ship, whilst simultaneously fending off attempts from Offensive Bias to hack into my systems. Even speaking to you just now has allowed the Gravemind to bypass one of my locks. I'm sorry, but you'll have to deal with this yourself! I'd hurry though, the Flood are fast approaching."

Crates, vehicles and weapons flew past the hanging group with dreadful speed, hitting the shimmering oxygen barrier and flying out into space, impacting against the swarms of spacecraft soaring through it. John knew that if the same thing happened to any of them, even their armour wouldn't protect them.

John's MJOLNIR armour had been cracked and dented, and he was certain that a few ribs had been broken. Kelly's helmet had been completely lost, exposing her pale, war torn face and untidy hair. If they fell, they'd be as dead as dead can be.

"This reminds of that time I was at Coral!" Johnson shouted, somehow managing to keep his voice level in the midst of terror. "Except then all I risked was a few broken bones and- ow, not so hard, Kelly!"

The Gravemind had sensed them in the ship, and had subsequently altered the direction of the ship's anti-gravity in an attempt to stop them, before opening the blast shield which would usually cover the oxygen barrier.

"Cortana! Can you adjust this ship's gravity emulator?" John shouted as his arm felt like it was being ripped out of its socket as a result of the Arbiter's weight.

"Not remotely, I need to have manual access to a panel near the door to override the Gravemind's control," Cortana answered with clipped and measured tones. John processed that information for a few moments, before he realised what he meant.

"You need one of us to drop down and touch it," John replied with horror. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Cortana answered, her voice full of apology. "I'm so sorry."

"So wait a second, you're telling me that one of us has to let go and fall, and hit the access panel before flying through an oxygen barrier and dying of asphyxiation?" Johnson asked the AI.

"It's either one, or all," Cortana answered, disabling many of her emotional algorithms temporarily so that they wouldn't overwhelm her. "Again, I'm sorry."

"Transfer yourself to my Neural Interface, Cortana. I'm an old man, I'll do it," Johnson answered softly, yet resolutely.

"I admire your courage, sergeant, but that won't work. You don't react fast enough under pressure, not fast enough to hit that panel before falling through the barrier. It has to be a Spartan," Cortana replied. John felt his heart skip a beat. He closed his eyes, before nodding.

"Arbiter, I'm going to swing you up. Catch on to this ledge," he told the Sangheili hanging onto him. "Cortana, brace yourself. I'll make the drop."

Kelly's head snapped to face him.

"Don't be ridiculous John, I'll do it. You need to get to the Gravemind," she told him sharply. John shook his head.

"You can do that. Too many have died for me today, Kelly. Too many have died for me in the past. It's time for me to give something back," he answered.

"I don't care sir, I'm doing the drop," Kelly replied firmly.

"No, Kelly, you're not," John told her just as stoically, swinging the Arbiter up. The Elite flew through the air, and John watched him like a hawk, ready to catch and try again if necessary. Luckily, his friend managed to grasp on to the ledge.

"Spartan, allow me to perform this task," the Arbiter implored of him quietly. "I can move almost as fast as you."

"Not fast enough," John told him, glad of the fact. He didn't want anyone else to sacrifice themselves for his sake today.

_Cortana, are you ready?_ he asked silently, and waited a moment expectably. After a few seconds of quiet, he frowned. _Cortana?_

No reply.

"Goodbye, John," Kelly called, snapping him back into reality. He turned to face her, eyes widened, coming to a silent realisation.

"Cortana's with you, isn't she?" the Master Chief demanded, heart racing. The other Spartan nodded sadly.

"Yes. I have a higher predicted chance of success than you, John. I'm faster, and I always have been. And you have a higher predicated chance of stopping the Gravemind. Cortana's primary programming is to make sure the mission succeeds, and she has initiated it. Don't blame her, she's just doing what Halsey designed her to do," Kelly told him, her voice constrained.

"Dammit Kelly, no! I can't lose you, not after Fred and Linda and everyone else who has died in the god damn war!" he shouted at her, tears springing into his eyes. Kelly shook her head, lifting Johnson up onto her ledge.

"I'm sorry, John. It's the only way. Just promise me you'll do what you do best."

"And what's that?" John asked her through sobs.

"Win," Kelly said simply, before letting go of the ledge and falling.

"No!" John shouted after her, nearly letting go of his own ledge in a foolish and suicidal attempt to grab her. As he began to raise his hand from the sturdy handhold however, he felt another hand pin it down, that of the Arbiter's.

"Don't be a fool, my friend," the Elite told him with anguish, before turning back to watch Kelly.

The Spartan had a long way to fall, but she was doing it with grace, as always. Obstacles were deftly moved around, or in some cases destroyed when she crashed through them. She outstretched her arms, and air resistance slowed her down a tiny bit.

Kelly was just a few dozen metres away from the oxygen barrier and the access panel now, and time started to trickle like water through the holes in a dam, milliseconds became minutes. The Spartan spun around so she was falling on her back. She stared at John for the last time, her eyes were needles, stabbing at John's heart, making him feel weak and unworthy. .

At the last possible moment, she smacked her hand against the small access panel to her right faster than John had ever seen her move before. Kelly slipped through the barrier of life, her suit losing oxygen rapidly. As the last pocket of air left her suit she began to clutch her throat and writhe hopelessly, as if she were strangling herself, and then... nothing. Her delicate body graceful even after death, floating through the vast emptiness of space.

Then, she was gone.

John felt a huge lump rise in his throat, and the strength left his arms. He began to fall himself despite the desperate lunging of the Arbiter, but he didn't care. Suddenly, he felt his direction change, and fell heavily down to the ground, gravity restored to its former state.

The Spartan just lay on the ground, shaking with shock. Tears flowed freely from his eyes, and he just wanted to die.

_I'm alone. Truly now, I am the last of my kind. There are no others. All my brothers and sisters are dead._

He saw the Arbiter and Sergeant Johnson rush over to him with corner, but batted them away. Instead, he rose to his feet, livid with rage, and stormed over to the access panel where Cortana stood, head hung in upset, but not shame. John raised his fist, and felt like punching the panel. He managed to repress the urge, instead settling for an unfortunate wall, which crumpled under the force of the fist.

"How could you-" John began to ask Cortana with choked anger. She shook her head, distress clear in her face.

"Kelly had a projected 87% chance of succeeding," Cortana told him bluntly. "Yours was only 56%, John. I did the calculations, and checked them again, and again. Each scenario came up with the same answer. The mission is the priority, Spartan. You should know that by now."

That was one of the first things Cortana had told him when they had first met. John closed his eyes, unable to grapple with the prospect of truly being the last Spartan. He then knelt down to stare at Cortana with hatred.

"I will never trust you again," he told her forcefully, and she noticeably flinched. She reached out a hand tentatively.

"John-" she began.

"Don't speak to me!" he shouted back, smacking his hand onto the panel and transferring her back into his MJOLNIR suit. "All that matters is the mission. You've made that abundantly clear."

He looked around the room, and saw the Arbiter, Johnson and Mendicant Bias staring at him as if he'd go crazy and kill them all at any moment.

"John, you need to calm down," Mendicant Bias told him. "This isn't Cortana's fault, or yours. It's the Gravemind's. And you can avenge Kelly when we reach him."

John just stormed past the Monitor, ignoring everything except the mission. There was nothing else to live for now. He drew out his rifle, and walked towards the huge door on the opposite side of the room to the oxygen barrier."Chief! You can't just storm through the corridor, there's an army of Flood!" Johnson shouted after him with worry. The Spartan snarled grimly.

"Good," was all he said, before smashing the metal door open. Several Flood soldiers were smacked down to the floor as a result of this, and were subsequently torn asunder by rounds from an MA5C.

An energy sword sizzled past his helmet, barely missing his visor He turned to see a Flood form mindlessly flailing its weapon. John caught it by the neck, and dashed its head against the wall with a satisfying snap. He tossed the limp corpse to the side, before picking up the sword.

Two of the larger Tank forms swung around the corner, pounding the ground ferociously. John didn't even break stride as he threw the energy sword at one of them, which cut straight through its chest. Before the sword hit the wall, John ran and caught it, quickly disembowelling the other.

And so for the next ten minutes, he indulged himself in the massacre. Waves fell beneath his unstoppable might, and in those moments he was a god. Every time he felt himself tire, he thought of all the Spartans that had died, and found the strength to go on.

"Mercy," the last of the Flood forms pleaded desperately, throwing down its weapon as it stared with horror at the mound of corpses lining the corridors. John stared at it cruelly for a second, before grasping it tightly around the throat.

"Say that again," he whispered menacingly at the terrified Flood form. It grasped futilely at his vice-like hand, attempting to relieve the pressure.

"Mer. . . Mercy," it managed to croak out, sounding utterly pathetic. John revelled in its distress.

"One more time," he demanded, drawing out and igniting an energy sword.

"Mer-" the Flood form's final words died as its head was separated from the body by a single, raged slice. John let the headless corpse tumble to the ground, and stared back at his handiwork. The invincibility that imbued his limbs left him, and he slowly sunk to he knees, and threw his weapons away, fully intending to never pick them up again.

The Arbiter stepped gingerly over a Flood corpse, and knelt down next to him whilst Johnson and Mendicant Bias made sure the area of the ship was secure.

"You can't give up now, Spartan," the tall, golden armoured Elite told him sincerely. John ignored him, staring down at the ground through unshed tears.

"Oh yes I can," he answered curtly, removing his battered MJOLNIR helmet and forcefully hurling it against the wall, where it bounced off the soft biomass and felt softly to the ground. Over the past few weeks, his hair had grown slightly and he'd begun to grow a beard, which felt alien on his usually smooth skin.

"Is that what the other Spartans would have wished?" the Arbiter demanded of him angrily, rising to his legs. "For you to just ignore their sacrifices and surrender? They all gave their lives so that you can stop all of this. If you don't understand that, then maybe you're not worthy to be a Spartan after all. Certainly not half as worthy as those who died so that we could continue."

"You go too far!" John shouted angrily, standing up and pinning the Arbiter to the wall, staring up at him aggressively. Thel looked down at him with surprise, before smiling.

"Ah, so you _do_ still care," he told him knowingly. John stared at him blankly for a few moments, before relaxing his grip and drawing back from his friend.

There was a long pause.

"I do," he finally conceded, picking up his helmet and rifle. "I just can't believe they're gone."

_Chief?_ Cortana inquired tentatively.

_Are you still here?_ he snapped angrily, causing her to wince. He subsequently felt guilty, and the icy exterior melted a little. _I'm sorry._

_Don't be,_ Cortana answered. _You have every right to hate me right now._

_Yes, but I don't. Programming required you did that, I understand._

_You know,_ Cortana began slyly, evidently relieved she had been forgiven. _I was glancing through ONI files not too long ago and came across some references to Spartans. Alive Spartans. Specifically Grey Team and the Red Team of Omega. After this is all over, I could hack the ONI systems properly and see what I can find. I know they're not your team, but they're still Spartans._

_Thank you Cortana, that would mean a lot to me. Of course, first we need to survive._

"There is an elevator here, it seems to be a part of an old human ship welded into this monstrosity of a vessel. I've analysed the ship's schematics, and with a bit of luck it should take us straight to the ship's bridge, which is where the Gravemind will be," Mendicant Bias shouted across wisely.

"And what's to stop that deformed piranha plant from disabling it?" Johnson asked the monitor sceptically, who turned to him with a hurt look.

"Please, sergeant. I'm fairly confident in my ability to keep an elevator moving," Mendicant replied with a wounded voice. Johnson muttered a sarcastic reply, and moved to the lift door. Mendicant opened it nonchalantly, and Johnson stepped inside along with the Arbiter.

"Are you feeling better, John?" Mendicant asked him as he moved to follow.

"No," the last Spartan answered despondently as he entered the spacious and reassuringly human looking lift. "But I'll keep soldiering on. It's what we Spartans do best."

Mendicant acknowledged his reply silently, and drifted into the small box himself. In a few moments, the elevator was sailing through the long shaft, taking the four weary saviours closer to the end.

* * *

The Gravemind sat solemnly in its hallowed chamber, contemplating what he would do next. The one thing that could destroy him forever was less than a mile away, being ferried towards him by a seemingly unstoppable denizen.

Not only that, but he had noticed his Flood were starting to grow a little too independent. In order to combat the pitiful mortals invading his domain, he had been forced to drastically accelerate their evolution. This made his minions better warriors, but they had begun to develop some small degree of individuality.

Wearily, he simultaneously stared through the eyes of all his slaves, numbering well over three billion not including the countless infection forms, and processed the information relayed to him in a few short seconds. A few things worried him, and not just the relentless daemon coming after him like a dogged creature spawned in hell.

The Didact, his hated foe of old, had assumed control of the ground forces back upon Sangheilios and was holding his Flood at bay. The Forerunner leader unpleasantly reminded him of the one who had sanctioned his creation all those years ago, back when the Precursor empire had been at its height.

The Gravemind thought their uncaring and thoughtless race eradicated, until he had encountered them again a few short years ago. Still as persevering and overly ambitious as ever, the limited technology they wielded did not reduce their threat and ferocity by one bit.

"Offensive Bias," the Gravemind summoned ominously, the Sentinels in the corner of the room transmitting his melodic voice. Shortly, the tarnished bronze form of the fallen monitor appeared before him. It had been corrupted so easily, he almost needn't have said anything when attempting to sway it to his side. He found it ironic that Offensive Bias now served him whilst Mendicant had once again switched sides.

"Gravemind," it greeted nervously, no doubt overpowered by his awesome presence. He contemplated the rampant AI's miserable existence briefly, before speaking.

"I shall be entering what you call slipspace now, Offensive Bias. This planet has grown too perilous for me to remain. Many of my soldiers shall remain however, and I fully expect you to crush these petty mortals. I shall return once I deem this place safe," the Gravemind rumbled.

"Of course, Gravemind. We shall have our revenge," the AI spoke eagerly, the Gravemind had to repress a mocking laugh. The fool did not know that it would be disposed of as soon as it had fulfilled its purpose.

"Yes, Offensive Bias. We shall," he said aloud, staring around the hallowed chamber he sat in. His glorious form encompassed much of it, his wondrous divinity encroaching upon much of the piteous walls.

"What will you do about the Master Chief and the interloper Mendicant Bias?" Offensive Bias then questioned, prompting a volcano of anger to erupt cataclysmically.

"What do you mean?" the Gravemind demanded icily, grasping the fallen monitor's feeble form with his powerful, magnificent limbs in a crushing grip. Offensive Bias began to pulsate in panic.

"Nothing! Only that, well, what if they manage to reach you?"

"Then they shall be cowed by my imposing presence, Offensive Bias. They shall not touch me with their mortal, unworthy hands," the Gravemind answered icily, releasing his grip ever so slightly.

"But what if they do? You refuse to have your minions guard you, or let me assign you Sentinels who can defend you. They could kill you!" Offensive Bias chirped worriedly.

"Kill me? I am a God, you pathetic creature!" the Gravemind roared, attempting to convince himself of the fact as much as he did of Offensive Bias. "For millions of years I have roamed this tragic and unbecoming universe, and I shall do so for all eternity."

Offensive Bias shrieked at his fury, retreating several metres away from him.

"Of course you will Gravemind, but I analysed the shards of Mendicant Bias myself long ago. He _does_ have the capability to destroy and subsequently usurp you as-"

The Gravemind lashed out suddenly, a heavy tendril crumpling a semi-organic metal beam, causing part of the ceiling to sag. He grasped the Forerunner AI tightly, and drew him close.

"You will not speak of such blasphemy, Offensive Bias. I gave you purpose where you had none! Without me you would be a lonely husk. I am _immortal!_ Now begone, before I do something I doubt I will regret," he commanded the ghost of a once mighty being, and Offensive Bias nodded, subjugated. The Monitor then vanished in a stream of bronze, spluttering light, and once again the room was dark save for his own heavenly radiance.

The words spoken by Offensive Bias troubled him greatly. The thought of dying had never once in his lifetime crossed his mind. Certainly, his body had in the past been ravaged, but his consciousness had remained within the spores that forever remained in the universe. To be completely wiped from existence - it was unthinkable.

He felt one of his Flood tacticians enter the room, and slowly roused himself. The minion knelt before him, as was customary, and delivered its message whilst keeping its eyes firmly fixated on the floor.

"Lord, they are in the elevator and are fast approaching," it told him with a hint of fear in his voice. "The Traitor is preventing us from halting its advance. Would you have us set up an ambush?"

"You think that would work, you fool? This daemon has cut through an entire legion of you in an attempt to reach me. Do you really think _you_ would make a difference?" he chided bitterly, and the Flood form faltered.

"Yes, Lord. I mean no. That is to say-" it flustered, panicking.

The Gravemind grew weary of this snivelling creature before him, and with a nonchalant thought quickly took its life away. The corpse tumbled to the ground, eyes wide and shocked. Staring down at it contemptuously, the Gravemind tapped in to the neural network connecting him to every one of his minions. Three billion minds threatened to annoy him, and so he narrowed the scope down to those on his ship.

"They are approaching," he spoke telepathically. "Subdue them, and bring them before me. I will assimilate them myself, before destroying that twice treacherous fiend Mendicant Bias. If capture is impossible, then kill them."

The Gravemind didn't for a single second believe that the incompetents he commanded would even be able to phase the approaching horsemen of the apocalypse, but knew that there was always a small chance of success.

And if they did reach him, what of it?

_After all, I am a God._

* * *

_Ding!_

The Flood opened fire with their rifles, the rounds penetrating and plasma bursts melting through the soft steel. After thirty seconds of continuous fire, they ceased. One of them tentatively approached the heavy, smooth steel doors of the rectangular box, and contorted its limb so that it slid in between the gap separating the two doors. Carefully, it expanded the limb, and the metal began to buckle under the pressure. Eventually there was enough of a gap that the doors could be completely ripped from the elevator frame.

The Flood form who had prised the doors away stared dumbly at the empty space inside; a completely blank steel box aside from buttons and holes riddling the walls of it. Curious, it entered the box along with one of its fellow soldiers, an infected Sangheili.

The elevator creaked, and then suddenly, it began to fall, quicker than the eye could trace. The screams of the two Flood soldiers sounded until it hit the bottom of the shaft with a sickening crunch. Three more Flood soldiers rushed to the ledge of the shaft, staring down at the odd sight.  
A quick green blur shifted from above, and the three Flood forms were thrown of the ledge, shrieking with terror as they fell. Standing in their place was the unstoppable force, the Master Chief. He stared facing the remaining thirty Flood soldiers defiantly, rifle held nonchalantly in hand.

"Hi," he greeted icily, bringing his rifle up. The Flood soldiers shrank back in fear, afraid of this mighty titan in green. John took a step towards them, which resulted in them taking a step backwards. He smiled maliciously.

"You are outnumbered," one of the Flood soldiers recomposed itself, facing him defiantly. "What good can you do against all of us?"

"Nothing, I suppose," John laughed coldly, shouldering his rifle and kneeling down on the floor submissively. The Flood soldiers exchanged looks between themselves, hardly believing their luck. Five of them approached him, keeping their rifles trained upon his person at all times.

"Then you surrender?" the leader of them demanded with its grotesque mouth. John shrugged.

"I suppose so," he admitted, before pointing at a point behind the group of relieved Flood soldiers. "I don't think he does though."

The Flood soldiers turned around in unison, in time to see the Arbiter's active camouflage disengage, revealing the tall and imposing Elite holding two energy swords. Thel swooped in to the group, swinging the two blades with powerful precision. The group of Flood panicked, many of them dropping their weapons as they attempted to flee. John plunged his hand deep into the chest of one attempting to run, and found the infection form. He squeezed, once. Dropping the corpse, he reached down and picked up his weapon, firing upon the other Flood forms with his MA5C.

A few of them had recovered from the shock, and were now beginning to fight back. A large hulking Flood form, taller than a Spartan and as limber as a willow tree approached him wielding a long energy stave. The last Spartan backed away slowly from its advance, dodging its arcing swings uneasily. One of them was heading straight towards him, and desperately he held up his assault rifle. The stave hit the solid stock of the gun, shearing the metal in two.

"Spartan!" the wizened tones of the Arbiter called over to him, diverting his attention for a second. His friend drew a small baton out from his armour, throwing it over to him. John caught the small glowing cylinder, staring at it with perplexity whilst simultaneously evading blows from the Flood's energy stave.

"What is it?" he demanded frantically, dealing the Flood form a solid punch after avoiding a swing from the stave. His fist merely passed through the gelatinous biomass.

"Touch the glyph on the underside!" Thel shouted back to him, plunging his two swords into a particularly eager Tank form. John checked the bottom of the baton, and saw a Forerunner glyph indented into it. It seemed strangely familiar, like a half forgotten memory. He touched the glyph, and suddenly the baton expanded into a large double ended stave to rival that of the Flood form's. His foe paused for a second, uncertain, before resolve settled into its eyes and it lashed out.

John blocked the attack with his own stave, and energy crackled around the point where the two met. Suddenly the battle had become a contest of strength, as the Flood form loomed over him, pushing down upon his stave with all its might. John felt his knees begin to buckle under its shear ferocity.

Unbidden, images of his now dead Spartan brothers and sisters suddenly overwhelmed him in a cascading tidal wave of emotion. Seeing their faces imbued vigour into his tiring limbs, and he began to push back at the Flood form. His knees locked, and with one final effort he pushed out, sending the Flood form flying several metres in the air. It landed heavily on the ground, its stave sent cascading across the floor.

With one final strike, he plunged the barbed tip of his stave into the Flood form's heart, ending it's life. He looked around the room and saw the Arbiter being heavily taxed by four persistent soldiers, and decided to intervene. He crept up behind two, and deftly snapped their necks with a sickening crunch. His stave impaled the other two, and after a few struggling seconds they relaxed, being held up by the strong rod.

"My thanks, Spartan," the Arbiter gasped, glancing around the room to make sure that none still survived. John disengaged the stave, the two ends of the long energy rod sliding back inside the cylinder he held grasped in his hand. He then passed it back to the Elite.

Johnson swung into the room from the high ledge in the elevator shaft with Mendicant Bias in tow, looking a little disappointed.

"Why wasn't I allowed to fight?" he complained, consoling himself by shooting a half-dead Flood form in the head. John smiled.

"You wouldn't have been able to move fast enough, no offence intended. Mendicant, how far away are we from the Gravemind?"

_I am waiting for you, John 117,_ the Gravemind rumbled. _No more of my minions shall block the path. Let us end this once and for all._

The voice ended as quickly as it had come, and John turned to look down a hallway at a large, ornate Forerunner door. He concluded that it must be the Gravemind's lair.

"Because that's not at all a trap," Johnson answered sarcastically. The Arbiter nodded.

"I agree, I do not like this. He sounds overly confident."

"When isn't he?" Cortana answered dryly. "What else would you have us do? He believes himself a God. Arrogance will be his downfall."

John stared grimly at the large door leading to the Gravemind's lair. He knew Cortana was right. They couldn't turn back now. No matter how dreadful the prospect seemed, they had to face the Gravemind.

"Mendicant, are you ready to do what needs to be done?" he coolly asked the AI hovering beside him. He heard a synthetic sigh emanate from him.

"Die, you mean? Yes John, I am ready. Do not hesitate for a single second. This is my purpose," Mendicant Bias told him. John patted its chassis reassuringly. He turned to face the three dear beings who had made it this far with him. And then he bent his head solemnly as he remembered all those who had died so this could be possible.

"This is it. Today we finish what was started millions of years ago. Despite all their technological might the Precursors couldn't stop the Flood, and neither could the Forerunners. But we can. We _will._ Failure is not an option. Am I understood?"

"It is a sad thing, to kill something so old and wise, no matter how evil it is," Mendicant Bias remarked with a hint of regret. "But the Gravemind is an abomination and it must be stopped. We're all with you, John."

"Then let's end this."

* * *

Three of Offensive Bias' vessels had boxed in the UNSC _Hastings_, Admiral Cole's new flagship. The rest of his fleet was engaged and could not provide assistance; the rampant AI had set up a blockade of sorts. Panic had ensued on his bridge, as Ensigns scurried around frantically. Cole remained stoic, staring at the three pronged trident facing him defiantly.

"That's enough!" he barked at his scurrying crew, who immediately froze. He activated the intercom, broadcasting his voice to the rest of the ship. "All non-essential personnel should immediately head to the nearest lifeboat."

"What about _us_, sir?" his first Lieutenant demanded, eyes watering. He'd already given up all hope of survival. Couldn't have that, Cole was his Admiral after all.

"You're all essential. You'll remain here and help me fight these bastards off," Cole informed them. A groan swept through the bridge crew, provoking a stern look from the Admiral that could have halted a charging Brute. They immediately backed down, and sat back in their seats, subservient.

"Incoming transmission sir," Hall called over uncertainly. "It's Offensive Bias again."

"For a machine, that bastard sure loves to run his nonexistent mouth," Cole muttered darkly, clasping his hands tightly behind his back. "All right, patch him through. Anubis, make sure to keep the firewalls up at all times. Everyone; stay silent. Trust me."

A tarnished bronze spherical Forerunner monitor appeared on his screen, and although it had no facial expressions which could be read Cole could tell it was contemptuous.

"Admiral Cole. Surrender your systems to me, and I shall not destroy you," it told him forcefully. Cole sighed despondently, sticking the moist of his pipe into his mouth.

"Very well, Offensive Bias. You have us beat. We'll turn our systems over to you. I'm afraid we can't give remote access though, the systems have been damaged."

At his words, the crew exchanged worried looks, looking at him as if he'd gone traitor. Cole ignored them, staring at the screen. Offensive Bias seemed taken aback by his submission, before pulsating gleefully.

"No worry Admiral, we can establish direct access. You are making a good decision here. Perhaps your race isn't as worthless as I first thought, I may try and persuade the Gravemind to spare you. He respects me greatly," the monitor boasted smugly. Cole nodded slowly, allowing fake tears to trickle down his wrinkled, old cheeks.

"I'm sure," Cole answered sincerely, before melodramatically bracing his worn arms on the railing, looking very much like the old man he was was. Whispers were coursing through his bridge crew, and Cole knew some of them were thinking he was betraying humanity. He just hoped enough of them remembered that he wasn't an idiot.

"Power down your systems Cole, and prepare to be boarded," Offensive Bias commanded. Cole relayed the order to his weapons team, who after a moment of hesitation complied reluctantly. The ship went dark as weapons were shut down, along with diagnostic stations and many lights also, leaving the bridge bathed in a stream of evanescent violet light from Helios, the system's curious sun.

"It's done," he told the Forerunner AI, who made a satisfied noise.

"Yes, I can see. I'll be sending over one of my ships now, Admiral. They'll board you, take over your systems, and then you and your crew will be taken to my flagship. And we'll have a little chat, and maybe you can convince me that humanity truly is worthy. If my Sentinels see anyone holding weapons when they come aboard, they'll kill anyone. Am I understood?"

"Yes," Cole told the monitor bitterly, fighting to suppress a wry smile that always graced him when his plans began to work.

"Then I will see you shortly Admiral," Offensive Bias told him, before cutting communications. Cole stared at the blank screen for a minute, always thinking, before heading to the observation window. Sure enough, one of Mendicant Bias' ships broke off from the blockade and began to soar towards them.

"With all due respect sir, what the hell was that?" one of his Ensigns demanded, her voice accompanied by numerous other shouts. "You're just going to give up? What the hell's wrong with-"

"Be quiet!" the Admiral rebuked, frowning. "We haven't got much time before that AI's bucket of bolts arrives, so I want you to hurry. Send orders for every Shiva, ARCHER, and HAVOK to be loaded into the docking hatches, on the double."

Grins began to break out across the crew, as they realised what he was planning. Ensign Hall looked a little uncertain, thin lips pursed and her pale slight brow furrowed.

"You're going to try and pull of a _Las Vegas_?" she demanded shrilly. Cole grunted noncommittally.

"Is that what the kids in naval school call it these days? Strategies don't need names, Ensign. They just need ship commanders crazy enough to pull them off," he answered dryly as orders were relayed across the ship on a closed communication channel.

"And you think Offensive Bias will fall for it, sir?" Hall continued, staring at him like he was insane. Cole adjusted his cap.

"I don't _think_ he will, Ensign. I know," he replied, before moving back to the observation window to watch the ship as it continued to fly towards him. Suddenly, a new wave of chatter broke out on his communications unit. He drew it out, pressing it to his ear. The voice which spoke to him sounded Russian.

"_Admiral Cole sir, this is Lieutenant Commander Tarasov of the UNSC_ Alamo. _I've managed to destroy the bastard who was badgering us sir, we're heading over to assist you now sir."_

_Cole pressed the button on the side of the small device, gaze averting to watch the friendly ship in question. A medium sized frigate, no match for three of the Sentinel ships._

_"That's a negative Commander, not on your own. Hold back for now and assist other ships if you can. When you see our signal, then you may proceed with your helping of us," Cole spoke back, and he could hear the noises of disapproval from the other end of the line._

_"But Admiral, you're completely surrounded. I'm coming over-" Tarasov began to reply impudently._

_"I said no, Commander!" Cole roared fiercely. "Wait for the signal."_

_"What's the signal?"_

_"Oh believe me, you'll know it when you see it," Cole chuckled, killing the communications link before Offensive Bias picked up on it. He then looked expectantly back at his bridge crew, who were sitting quietly in the dark, some praying, others just crossing their fingers._

_"Every nuclear weapon we have on board has been loaded into the docking hatches, sir," Hall reported with a smart salute that Cole could hardly see in the dim light given off by Helios. He nodded curtly, and now waited himself._

_Minutes passed as Offensive Bias' boarding ship drew closer, and then suddenly-_

_Clang!_

Metal met metal as the AI's ship latched onto the UNSC _Hastings._ Cole leapt into action, a fierce grin on his face.

"Anubis," he told the small AI next to him, holographic jackal face grinning ferally. "Power up all systems, and fire all nuclear ornaments into that ship as it opens up to board us. Then get us the hell away from it."

"Aye sir." The AI was taking the form of the Egyptian god of death and judgement. Cole found that rather fitting.

The _Hastings_ shook as nuclear weapons were ejected forcefully into the opening hatches of Offensive Bias' boarding ship.

"Disengage!" Cole shouted, bringing the systems fully back online. The _Hastings_ pushed away from the boarding ship, drifting away some distance until-

_Boom!_ a muffled explosion carried by vibrations reverberated, and Cole looked out of the port-side window to see Offensive Bias' boarding ship begin to explode from within as simultaneously, every nuclear weapon the Admiral possessed was detonated. Fire coursed out of all the ship's hatches, the shields of the ship could do nothing but work in Cole's favour as they contained the blast. Finally, the ship tore in two.

"Move around, unleash a MAC payload towards the bow of the target I'm painting," Cole roared, and the UNSC _Hastings_ spun around, the underside Mass Accelerator Cannon charging up. The ship Cole had highlighted was turning around to face them now, and did so just in time to receive multiple MAC blasts hit it in the nose, tearing through the unlinked shields and coursing through the middle of the unprepared ship, eventually smashing through the core. It drastically altered course, and begin to fly down to Sangheilios like a falling star.

"That's two targets eliminated, Admiral!" Hall enthused, drawing a small smirk from him. He drew out the communications device at his belt, and contacted the UNSC _Alamo._

"All right, Commander Tarasov. Move your ship up and engage, on the double mister!" Cole barked, grabbing onto a railing as a shot from the last intact enemy ship smashed against the _Hastings_' shields and shook the ship.

"Open fire on that ship dammit, let Tarasov sneak up on it!" Cole ordered irritably, noting that his coffee had spilt all over the floor. He sighed as he looked down at the smashed porcelain cup. The _Hastings_ rumbled as missiles and smaller MAC rounds were fired from it, impacting against Offensive Bias' ship. Tarasov's ship was creeping up behind it like a hunting tiger.

"Incoming transmission from Offensive Bias again, sir," a second Lieutenant reported smartly from his seat, sounding amused. Cole composed himself, and nodded.

"Patch him through."

There was a pause, and then suddenly the UNSC symbol spinning on the video monitor was replaced by an image of a fuming Offensive Bias, pulsating with dangerous red light.

"What is this Cole? We had a deal!" the rampant Forerunner AI shrieked in its low, grinding voice. Cole folded his arms, wearing a highly contemptuous smirk.

"Offensive Bias, there is something that every person in the galaxy should know. No matter the circumstance, no matter how sure of victory you are; if you want to live to see tomorrow, there is one thing you never, _ever_ do. Don't try to board Admiral Preston J. Cole."

"Damn you!" Offensive Bias cried in anger. "How dare you speak to me so. I am-"

Cole clicked his fingers, signalling Anubis to cut the link. The AI was cut off mid-sentence, and the image reverted back to the UNSC logo on the pleasant blue background. He went back to watching the small skirmish between his ship and the last of the three that had tried to subdue him. The battle was fierece, and Cole's shields were close to total depletion. He didn't think his hull was tough enough to withstand the advanced blows Offensive Bias' ships could deal.

Suddenly, the UNSC _Alamo_ was there, soaring towards the enemy ship from its underside. Fully armed, it let off a volley of MAC rounds, which crashed into the already weakened weakened shield of the vessel. They sheared through it, and soon the scow was in ruins. Sentinels floated out, and were quickly dispatched by point-defence turrets on the _Alamo_ and _Hastings._

"Thanks _Alamo,_" Cole said finally, catching his breath and picking up the smashed cup. "You saved us there."

_"Damn, Admiral, you took out two of them by yourself when they had you trapped. I doubt you needed our help at all. Will you be rejoining the battle?"_

"Of course."

* * *

The door slid open with a weary groan, and they slowly walked inside, weapons held poised and ready. The room they stepped into bore the stench of rotting corpses and other such horrors. Putrid organic mass lined the walls and hung from the ceiling, a stagnated pool sat in the corner of the room.

And in the centre, atop a large and tall pedestal sat the Gravemind himself, staring down at them with suppressed malice. His thick tentacle like limbs swayed hypnotically in the air, casting complicated and intricate shadows on the wall. Dead flesh collected between his decaying jaws, the inside of his mouth lined with the crushed skulls of hundreds of different creatures. The Gravemind bathed in a pool of bone and flesh, and the tormented screams of those unfortunate enough to be melded into it could clearly be heard, turning John's legs to jelly. And yet he also possessed a calming serenity about it, an imposing god-like presence.

He was both monstrous and magnificent at the same time.

"So, you have finally reached me," he rumbled with the voice of a thousand hellish beasts and heavenly angels. "I believe congratulations are in order. John, Avery, Thel. Yes, I know you. Better than you know yourselves."

"Then you must know that we're about to put an end to your miserable existence," John answered sharply, stepping forward. Every step was a battle as he strove to confront this awesome creation. The Gravemind laughed, his dead form convulsing and rippling as he shifted.

Suddenly, he lashed out with his tendrils and grasped Johnson and the Arbiter in a bone crushing grip, before slamming them into the ground. They slumped, unconscious.

"I could quite easily do the same to you, John. But I won't. Let us talk awhile, child of my enemy."

John narrowed his eyes at the great creature before him, before sheathing his weapon and nodding. What other choice did he have?

"If you want," he told it, still keeping a firm grasp on Mendicant Bias, calculating how best he could reach the Gravemind. All he needed to do was plunge the Forerunner AI into it, and the virus would be unleashed.

"You think my existence miserable, do you? Look at me, John. I do not age, I possess more knowledge than any other being in this petulant universe. My might is matched by none, and I command a species far greater than your own."

"But are you happy?" John demanded softly, and that question caught the Gravemind by surprise. "You are hated by _everything._ Your own kind only serve you out of fear. From the moment of your creation to now, nothing has ever loved you, or even liked you."

"I care not for those petty mortal emotions!" the Gravemind roared with the grainy voice of a thousand dead. "The universe treated me with contempt from the moment your ancestors created me, and I see no reason to treat it any differently."

"My ancestors?" John questioned, utterly perplexed. The Gravemind scrutinised him closely as if he were searching his soul, and then drew back with a sly grin.

"You don't know? Did you not tell the humans of their legacy, Mendicant?"

"It would have served no purpose," the Forerunner AI spoke back stiffly, as if ashamed. The Gravemind laughed capriciously, tendrils making ever more complex and ornate movements.

"Then I shall enlighten them myself. You see, John 117, the race that created me is not extinct. The species lives on, and two survivors are in this room before me at this very moment in time. _You_ are Precursor, John. Every 'human' is a descendant of the Precursors that fled to their hidden colony world Earth as I crushed their mighty empire. Over time they lost their technology, and recessed into what is now known as humanity. I searched for you for years, but to no avail. Earth was a closely guarded secret it seems, and the galaxy is wide, and vast. Eventually I concluded that you were no threat, and gave up. Then suddenly like a bad omen you come to me. You may have changed the name of your species, but you are still the same. Persevering, adaptive, survivalists. I am your child, creator of mine. All the destruction you see is a result of your pathetic race's attempt to cheat death."

"Is this true?" the Master Chief demanded of Mendicant Bias, his voice unwavering, a stoic and emotionless being on the exterior.

The AI seemed to hesitate.

"Yes, John. It is true. Humanity are the last remnants Precursors. Your people created the Gravemind," Mendicant Bias told him gravely. John struggled with the ramifications of this. The acts had been wrought millions of years ago, but the effects were still present even now. And although it was completely ludicrous, John felt guilty. He turned to the Gravemind, who was staring at them with glee.

"So what happens now, John? Would you kill the next step of evolution, one that your own people created? What right do you have to undo the acts of the past? Your time has long since passed; the universe belongs to us now."

John stared at the majestic being before him, and considered his options. Was the Gravemind truly such a bad thing? Did it take life, or give it? It was creating a unified universe; there would be no more sadness, no more hate, no more anger, no more envy.

_Don't listen to it John, it's playing with your emotions,_ Cortana cautioned him, but her voice was soon drowned out by the Gravemind's.

"I have forgiven your people for the wrongs they did to me John, for I am all things, including omni-benevolent. Humanity has much potential. There is an entire galaxy that together, we could consume. With our might and your ingenuity, nothing would be able to stop us. I could give your people immortality, John. Power beyond anything you've ever imagined. Finally you shall come to possess the gifts your forefathers intended you to have, and more."

"And together we'd destroy the universe?" John demanded sceptically. The Gravemind's tentacles began to sway faster.

"No! Combined, we would unify it in a single empire. The Flood has grown enough now, we could adapt to eat and drink and reproduce like you do. We would no longer consume. Just rule, humanity and we, together. A glorious universal empire, ever lasting. A chance for your people to become something more, even as I am. Gods, John. You would be as gods."

"Don't do it," Mendicant Bias spoke weakly.

"Silence!" the Gravemind roared. "This is not your decision, construct of a piteous and extinct race. Would you be wiped out like your forefathers, the Forerunners and so many others, John? I am offering your great people a chance."

John struggled with the choice. It was a chance for humanity to become something more. And if the Gravemind's Flood no longer infected, then would they be so different from them?

_Yes, John. He's evil, can't you see? Look at him, now. Really look at him. See how he stares down at you with anticipated malice. He enjoys corrupting people who are so much better than him, John. Don't let it happen to you. Resist him,_ Cortana spoke softly, her voice jarring him back into reality. And immediately John stared up at the Gravemind, and saw it for what it really was. An abomination, a mistake. The personification of evil.

"I refuse," he told the Gravemind, who looked dumbstruck. The swirling tentacles halted, and time seemed to freeze.

"_What?_" the hellish creature before him demanded in a blood chilling whisper.

"You heard me, Gravemind. I refuse. Humanity refuses. You're finished," the last Spartan shouted defiantly, before starting his assault. He tightened his grasp on Mendicant Bias, and sprinted towards the Gravemind, who roared with shock. Narrowly he avoided a lashing tendril, and leaped up onto the pedestal where the Gravemind sat perched. He drew back a hand, intending to plunge Mendicant Bias straight inside it's putrid body-

_Thwack!_

One of the Gravemind's long, thick oak tree tentacles had met its target, and sent John flying backwards through the air. Another two of them constricted him in a bone crushing grasp, and the Gravemind removed his helmet with a deft movement. It lifted him into the air in a similar way to how it had nearly a year ago on Delta Halo, and began to laugh. Mendicant Bias was similarly restrained.

"Very well, John. If you refuse to be my equal, then you shall be my slave. As will the rest of your race," the Gravemind taunted him. John struggled for a few moments, and then suddenly felt something icy and cold plunge into the back of his neck.

_No!_ Cortana screamed as John felt a mixture of ice and fire surge down his body. He began to convulse as he had the feeling of something being injected into his body. _He's infecting you John! Fight it!_

The Master Chief felt all the strength drain from his body, and the Gravemind dropped him down to the floor. John tried to rise, but ended up falling down again. He could feel the flood cells inside him, seeping into his cells and battering at his immune system.

"You see, John," the Gravemind said sadly. "Although you may be a powerful soldier, at the end of the day you are just another petty mortal like all the rest. And soon you shall be mine."

John shrieked in pain and rolled over onto his back, breathing heavily. His back arced and he pounded the ground with agony as his body was overcome by this alien parasite.

_Don't submit, John! Remember who you are!_

John nodded weakly, and struggled to remember. To his horror he found that his memories were being submerged in a murky, unreachable substance.

_"Win,"_ a voice echoed in his mind. Kelly's. Remembering her brought back memories of all the Spartans. Powerful warriors, standing against the malicious might of the galaxy. Both the first line of defence and the last. All that stood between humanity and annihilation.

_And I'm the last. John 117, Master Chief Petty Officer of the UNSC Spartan II program. The 'saviour of humanity.' The Demon,_ John recalled, and began to unsteadily rise to his feet. His memories were flooding back to him now - Eridanus II, training on Reach, augmentation, Harvest, Halo, High Charity, the Ark, Sangheilios, the Shield World.

"Impossible," the Gravemind breathed as John reoriented himself, and opened his eyes. "Enough of the infector pathogen is flowing through your body to turn anyone. Your immune system should be in pieces by now. This is impossible!"

"You know what they say about that word," John chided, smiling. "I guess your Flood cells have never met a real Spartan before."

The Gravemind roared in frustration, and sent a heavy tendril soaring towards him like a speeding bullet.

"Spartan!" a voice cried from the ground, and suddenly a burning sword was chucked through the air, spiralling and creating swirling violet patterns. John deftly caught the energy sword tossed by the beaten yet awakened Arbiter, and thrust it upwards to meet the limb aimed at his head. The shaped plasma bit into the pulsating, misshapen mass of the elongated tendril, and sheared clean through the tip.

The Gravemind reared back with pain, uttering a cry that no human could emit. John dived over another spearing tendril, aiming for the large stoic limb restraining Mendicant Bias. His boots trampled the biological mass lining the floor, quashing its attempts to trip him up.

The Spartan leapt through the air, sword held tightly in hand. He used the swinging tendrils of the Gravemind as aerial stepping stones, each one propelling him higher and higher. Finally, he reached the thick one binding Mendicant Bias, and dove onto it, digging the sword in to keep him firmly anchored as it thrashed around. Arduously, he began to pull himself up, eventually reaching the small, tight cavity Mendicant Bias was trapped in.

"You ready?" John asked the monitor as he cut him free, prompting the Gravemind to scream in pain yet again.

"We've been through this before John. Just hurry," the AI snapped as he was nestled under the Spartan's free arm. John stood on the thick, diagonal tendril, and began to run down it. He avoided arcing swings from the Gravemind, and blocked out the painful screams of pain and frustration it emitted. Limbs flew through the air as he cut, blood drenched him, some flying into his eyes. It burnt, but he kept them open anyway.

Finally, he reached the foot of the tendril, and found himself standing before the Gravemind, who was staring at him with horror. It desperately sent two more of its dagger sharp appendages speeding towards him, but they were easily avoided and subsequently dismembered.

"What happens now?" the Gravemind demanded, and for the first time in its life, it felt fear. Sheer, unquenchable fear.

"Now you die," John told him calmly, brandishing Mendicant Bias high above his head.

"You've lived long enough, Gravemind," the Forerunner AI told the cowering deity before it. "It's time to end it."

"No! I am a God! You cannot kill me!" the Gravemind screamed, setting John's teeth on edge. He stuck his energy sword into its body, and the screams promptly stopped, replaced by even worse shrieks.

"You are not a God, Gravemind," he told the wretched being before him forcefully. "You're a mistake. A terrible, terrible thing that should never have been created. Not many things are truly, completely evil, but _you_ are. And it stops now."

The Gravemind writhed pathetically, spouting weak protests.

"My children will come, and they will kill you," the leader of the Flood told him spitefully. John shrugged.

"Even if they do, you'll still be dead - forever. And I'll go happily knowing that."

"You can't kill me. Please. I don't want to die," the Gravemind pleaded with him, and for a moment the Spartan felt pity for the creation of his people that had never been loved. It was fleeting though, as he remembered all the suffering and grief this manipulating and uncaring abomination had caused.

"Neither did the trillions you destroyed," he answered hatefully, before drawing back Mendicant Bias and jamming it into the flesh of the Gravemind, before leaping off the pedestal and standing back.

The virus Mendicant Bias carried initiated.

The Gravemind screamed; a terrible, piteous scream. It writhed and thrashed as it began to decay, its flesh simmered and burned. It cursed in a million different tongues, and pleaded with John to make it stop. The last Spartan just stood watching it, not happy, but knowing that it had to be done.

Johnson and Thel came up behind him, watching the sight before them with wonder. The Gravemind's raging cries and pleas for mercy carried on for several minutes as it continued to flail, the flesh it comprised of melting away.

"No, you can't! I am a God! You _will_ submit to my-" the Gravemind shrieked out horribly, and those would be his final words. A bright white light began to fill the room, and then-

Silence.


	54. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

John awoke slowly, his head pounding with the sound of a thousand drums. The world swam before his eyes, his ears were ringing. Groggily, he moved his hands before his face, and was relieved to learn they were still there. A voice was distantly battering at his mind, incessant and shrill. He smacked the side of his head, attempting to clear his head of the voice, but it didn't stop.

"Chief!"

Memories were associated with that single, powerful word. Running through the jungle with his Spartans back on the Reach undergrowth, searching for an Insurrectionist leader. All had been wearing black jumpsuits. Fred was creeping through the darkness, twin knives held in hands. They were stained with dried human blood. Linda held a silenced long range rifle in her hand, the scope practically unused as she picked off targets with hawk-like vision. Kelly stealing through the night, falling upon unsuspecting victims with a swift and deadly precision, snapping necks and suffocating. Sam, the tallest of them all, not making an effort to hide himself as he ripped insurrectionists to pieces with his lightly gauntleted hands. Kurt, conferring with John, assessing the situation and always talking. William, determined and always keeping up morale with clever jokes and befuddling riddles. His family, working together as a singular force.

And then crushing reality kicked him in the stomach, and John felt sick. All of them were dead. He was the last Spartan.

"Chief!" the voice cried again, quite concerned. But John didn't want to wake up. He just wanted to lie down forever, and drift off into oblivion, with his Spartans. They'd be reunited again. A sudden, sharp pain in the side. Another shout. Hands shaking him constantly, voices muttering.

"Spartan, awaken! It's time to leave."

John stubbornly refused to open his eyes or engage his brain. He was done with life, not that it had been much of a life anyway. The earliest thing he could remember was Halsey taking him away. And since then, his life had been war. There was nothing else. There could be nothing else.

Suddenly, a deadly familiar sound. That of a gun being drawn from it's holster. Raw instinct kicked in despite his wishes to die and he leapt to his feet, surging in the direction of the gun. He didn't even need to think or see as he grabbed the arm holding it, twisted and batted the firearm out of the hand holding it.

"Heh, I knew that would work," Sergeant Johnson chuckled, staring up at John with a triumphant smirk. "Okay Chief, you can let go of my arm now. Ow!"

His vision cleared, and he saw his hands grasping Johnson's scarred and torn arm in a deadly grip. He stared dumbly at it for a few moments, before relinquishing his hold and drawing back.

"Sorry," John muttered quietly, assessing the room. He was still in the Gravemind's lair. But there was no Gravemind in sight. He saw Avery Johnson and Thel Vadam' watching him, still concerned. He could sense Cortana inhabiting his armour, although the world felt strangely colourless without his MJOLNIR helmet.

"You've been out cold a few hours at least, you were too close to the Gravemind when he. . . I actually don't know what happened. All I know is that suddenly he was dead, and you were lying on the floor," Johnson informed him, exhaling a puff of smoke. Without his helmet, John inhaled the second hand toxins, and nearly gagged as a result of the strong vapour.

"So the Gravemind's really dead?" John demanded, still feeling a little shaken, as if he would have a nervous breakdown at any moment. The room had become eerily silent, almost scarily so. For some reason John wanted nothing more than to leave.

"See for yourself, Spartan," Thel intoned, pointing up at the pedestal the Gravemind had once inhabited. A pool of rotting, biological mass. Dead contours were indented into the remains of the Gravemind, letting off a odd looking vapour. And in the middle of it-

"Mendicant Bias?" John marvelled, striding towards the pedestal and the inactive spherical monitor lying in the centre of it amidst the Gravemind's corpse. Johnson grabbed him before he drew any nearer to it.

"Not so fast Chief, we don't know how dangerous that piranha plant's remains are. Yeah, we see tinkerbell too. He looks pretty dead, Chief," the sergeant told him sadly, shaking his head. "As much as he got on my nerves sometimes, I kinda liked him. At least _he_ didn't shoot me with a laser."

John shrugged off the other human's hand, and kept moving towards the inactive Forerunner AI. He leaped up onto the large, elevated platform, scratched and weary green boots splashing through the almost liquid body of the Gravemind, which oozed unpleasantly under his feet. The stench was atrocious, but he kept moving anyway.

Finally, he reached the centre of the pedestal where a dead god now lay sprawled, and bent down to touch Mendicant Bias gently. The lifeless looking monitor spun slightly, before once again remaining still. He was covered in biological Flood mass, and no light emanated from him.

"Mendicant?" John asked softly, but there was no reply. The Forerunner AI was completely, and totally dead. It must have burnt out when unleashing the virus upon the Gravemind. John bowed his head mournfully, gently placing two hands upon its chassis, wiping away some of the biomass tarnishing its beautiful surface. He could see small Forerunner runes line the body of it, thousands upon thousands of them neatly rowed up. Affectionately he traced a path across a line of them with a finger, sighing.

Then, a spark. A fleeting, momentary race of blue across the thin surface, over so quick that John as almost convinced he'd imagined it. He looked back at Johnson and the Arbiter, but they hadn't seen anything. Still, _he_ had. And it was enough.

He tentatively picked the small casing of the monitor up, brushing away further remains of the Gravemind. Once again he was astounded by how truly beautiful the monitor was up close, and the amount of intricate detail that no normal eye could ever see.

"You wanna take him with us?" Johnson asked sympathetically. "Sure, we can give him a burial, or burning, or something."

John hopped off the pedestal deftly, holding the AI out before him, analysing.

"I think he might still be alive," the Spartan remarked shrewdly. Thel looked sceptical.

"He said himself that being put into the Gravemind would kill him, Spartan. Do not overly grieve him, for he died happily and with no regrets. Now, we should find this ship's bridge and head back to Sangheilios. With the Gravemind dead, there is no doubt that we shall secure a swift and decisive victory," the Arbiter told him, unconsciously clenching his fist as he did so. John stared at Mendicant Bias for a few more moments, before nodding and affixing the inactive chassis to his back via the clips he used to hold his rifle.

"Then let's get moving," he began, before suddenly being interrupted by a bronze light materialising in the air before him. He stepped back wearily, whipping a pistol out and aiming it at the source.

Offensive Bias appeared, staring straight down the barrel of the M6G. The rampant AI stared curiously at it for a few moments, before the light in its eye focused on John.

"You! What are you doing here? Where is the-" Offensive Bias broke off as it drifted sideways slightly, looking behind the trio at the Gravemind's decayed and putrid corpse. It stared blindly at the remains for a few moments, the red light in its eye increasing in intensity, before uttering a few words.

"No," it protested, denying the scene before it. It frantically began to pulsate, making despaired noises. "You haven't- this is a trick!"

John stepped forward determinedly.

"No trick," he told the tarnished AI, before letting a round loose from his pistol. It passed straight through the shimmering Offensive Bias, and he realised it was merely a holographic projection.

"You've ruined everything!" Offensive Bias shrieked at him, the image of it blurring slightly in a wave of static. "Why? Why must you people always destroy and neglect everything wondrous? What's wrong with you!"

John put his pistol back into its holster, knowing that he couldn't do anything to harm the AI nor could it directly harm him. He moved a tired hand across his eyes.

"Nothing is wrong with us, Offensive Bias. We just finished what you were created to do. Your primary programming has been fulfilled. You're free," the Spartan told it softly. Offensive Bias' red flame dulled to a kinder blue for a moment, but just as quickly reverted back to its crimson colour.

"No! I will never be free now, thanks to you! Well you're going to pay, do you understand? You may have ruined everything, but you _will_ die!" it screamed at him, and the hologram began to glow vividly. Suddenly, John felt the entire ship creak and shudder, making horrendous noises as it began to sway dangerous.

"What did you just do?" he demanded icily of the fallen Forerunner AI, who laughed maniacally.

"I altered the destination of this ship's slipspace vector, of course," it told him, still cackling. "Let's see how successful you are, _Reclaimer_, when your foe is a black hole! What makes it all the more ironic is that this particular one was created by my creators when they began collapsing star systems to slow the Flood down. Farewell, John."

And it vanished. John looked around the room nervously, and was nearly thrown off his feet once again when the ship began to buck.

"If we're going to die, then let us slay as many of the parasite as possible before this black hole can rob us of the opportunity," Thel growed, igniting an energy sword and adopting a combat-ready stance.

"What good would that do?" Johnson cried, punching the Arbiter lightly on the shoulder as if to shake him back into reality. "We ain't dead yet, and I don't plan to be. Not again. There must be some way we can escape."

John noticed his MJOLNIR helmet lying upside down a few dozen metres away, and jogged towards it. It was odd, but seeing it separated from his torso was as disgusting as a severed head would have been. Reaching down he picked it up, knocked some of the biological Flood mass out of it, and secured it onto his head.

_Chief!_ Cortana cried in relief, occupying that cold space in his mind again. _What's going on?_

"The Gravemind's dead, but Offensive Bias just arrived and set this ship on course with a black hole. Can you override the systems?" he demanded worriedly, clinging to that spark of hope. Thel and Johnson gathered around him. Cortana was silent for a few moments, before sighing.

"It's no good, I'll never be able to bypass his locks in time. This ship isn't changing direction," she told the three.

"Wait, I swear I saw a Longsword on the way here," Johnson remembered, brown crinkled as the tough old sergeant thought. "It was caked in that Flood slime, but it might still work."

"How far?" Thel demanded hurriedly.

"This is a big ship, maybe two miles away or so. But if we can get to it in time, then perhaps we can use it to escape this slipspace stream before we wind up in a black hole," Johnson grinned.

"How long do we have?" John asked Cortana. She was silent for a few moments, before answering sadly.

"Ten, at the most." Grins faded, replaced by despondent looks.

"I guess we're dead then," Johnson muttered darkly. John ignored him, exiting the room curiously. He could see a dark shape up ahead, barely visible even with his MJOLNIR helmet. He drew closer, activating his flashlight, and then finally saw it.

"What if we had a Warthog?" he called over, running a pleased hand over the battered but still very much intact frame of the blessed vehicle. Heads snapped to face him, and hurried over.

"Then we might have a chance," Thel shouted triumphantly, moving around to the turret. Johnson cut him off.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded impudently.

"Manning this weapon," Thel explained slowly, confused. Johnson shook his head, climbing up onto it himself.

"Sorry Arbiter, but I called dibs."

"What does that mean?" the Elite demanded strongly.

"It means that you're getting into the side," Johnson told him smugly, strapping his boots into the Warthog turret and affixing a protective helmet to his head. John decided to step in.

"Time's ticking, we need to leave," he told them, jumping into the driver's seat. There were no keys, but Cortana easily hot-wired the systems. In a few moments the engine was revving, and they were ready to leave. John took the inactive Mendicant Bias off his back, and tucked him in the cavity between the two front seats. Thel grumbled, before giving up and climbing in the side seat next to John.

"This is happening far too often," John told his friend, before pushing his foot down on the accelerator.

* * *

The Didact was the first to notice it. A slight shift in the Flood's movements, a moment of perplexity. It was fleeting, and they continued to fight, but the Forerunner had definitely seen what had happened.

"They did it," he remarked aloud, as he was crouched behind cover. "They killed the Gravemind!"

His voice carried to people near him, and they repeated the statement. Very soon, the entire army was awash with cries telling of the Gravemind's death. Trusting his intuition, the Didact stood out of cover, and immediately the Flood fired upon him. The shots were uncharged, or completely missed. They were completely disorientated, without the Gravemind to guide them.

"Now's our chance, soldiers! Forward!" he cried, leaping over the damaged Wraith tank he had been cowering behind whilst the Flood had beset them with fire. The Didact sprinted over to the group of Flood which had been suppressing him and the two Unggoy he'd been fighting alongside, and disposed of them easily. They were practically tripping over themselves, now solely guided by pheromones.

The wave of still surviving non-infected soldiers surged forward. Humans held rifles in hand, shouting feral cries as they charged. Sangheili ran with grace and finesse, deftly holding the burning energy swords that were their trademark. The Jiralhanae wielded archaic yet effective weapons. The Kig-Yar did not charge, but doubled their sniping efforts. Yan'me flew overhead, tackling the flying Flood swarms brutally. Unggoy fell in amongst all the ranks, the brave little soldiers doing their best to assist.

The Flood were trampled over. Where the non-infected had once been making a last stand inside a ring, they were now spiralling out, knocking down the Flood with ease. No mercy was shown. Those who surrendered were shot anyway. It was a massacre, but the Didact couldn't condemn it. This was, after all, the Flood.

After a long, harrowing battle, the city of Vadam was once again made safe. The Didact looked up and noticed Flood controlled aircraft falling out of the sky, or being shot down by the speeding Shortswords and Banshees.

"Didact!" a voice boomed, and the Forerunner turned to see the Jiralhanae Hierarch lumbering towards him, drenched in the blood of Flood. The Didact nodded respectfully as he shot a crawling, dismembered Flood form in the head, putting it out of its misery.

"Hierarch," he greeted, staring out at the city. The rolling dull plain of biological putrid mass was awash with colour as plasma rounds, rifle sparks and explosives splashed across it. Battlements were retaken, settlements reclaimed. For the first time in his war torn life, the Didact looked forward to the future.

"Do you think the Gravemind is truly dead, then?" Daedalus asked him in his low, soothing voice. The Didact looked up at the Jiralhanae, who towered over him by several feet. He smiled.

"I think that much is obvious," he answered, watching two Unggoy outgun several terrified Flood forms. "It seems it has finally come to an end."

"What happens now?" Daedalus asked, always looking for guidance from his 'god.' The Didact folded his scarred, bleeding arms thoughtfully.

"Offensive Bias is still up there, fighting Admiral Cole. It would be a little bit upsetting if we won this victory only to lose against him. How soon can AA turrets be set up?"

Daedalus chuckled, pointing at overhead flying Phantoms.

"They've already started, Didact. I believe the humans are going to attempt to erect a MAC cannon also. We will blast that heretical Oracle out of the sky, and reclaim Sangheilios for the Sangheili."

The Didact gave the Hierarch a sidelong glance, assessing.

"You're a good person, Daedalus. Never forget that," he told the Jiralhanae, who smiled and gave confused thanks. The Didact bid him farewell, and strode across the inactive battle field, relishing the victory. This time, a true victory. There had been no need for Halo.

He found Relg and Malkor standing in a small tower, staring out at Sangheilios, and the flurry of fire that was sweeping across it. They didn't notice him enter the small room, and so he announced his presence. They turned, smiled, and then looked back at Sangheilios again.

"We won," Malkor sighed. "But Sangheilios is still lost. Her surface is ravaged. This planet cannot sustain life."

"Well," the Didact began slowly, standing next to him and staring out at the landscape. "I suppose you now know how humanity felt when your burnt their homes. Now I'm not saying you deserved this, but I doubt you'll find a lot sympathy from them. They will stay true to their promise, and I'm sure you will be allowed to live on Earth until a more permanent solution is devised."

Relg shook his head, shoulders terse and stressed. A tear dropped out of his eye.

"They _are_ too forgiving. Just over a year ago, we nearly committed genocide upon their kind. Earth is all they have left. And they would share it with us. It is more than we deserve," the Light of a broken Sangheilios said bitterly. The Didact put a soothing hand on his shoulder.

"Perhaps it is. But that does not mean you should not accept their help. I'm sure many humans still hate you, but this is the first step towards a future of symbiosis. Now come, let us find poor Captain Daniels. He must be wondering what's happening."

"He'll be relieved it's all other, I'm sure," Relg smiled. "Do you think the Demon's team made it out alive?"

The Didact thought for a few moments, before answering.

"I'm sure they're just fine, child."

* * *

The Warthog sailed over the ledge, the sheer amount of air resistance throwing John firmly against the seat. For a few terrifying moments it flew through the air, bridging the gap between the two different segments of the ship - Human and Covenant. The welding was done shoddily, but somehow the two managed to stay together.

_Thud!_

With a bounce, the Warthog deftly landed on the other side of the ledge, entering a Covenant segment of the Gravemind's ship. The beaten vehicle's wind mirror cracked slightly, and it reared on its back tires, prompting everyone to cry out in surprise.

Suddenly, it was back on all four wheels, and surged along, cutting past the bemused look Flood soldiers who began to fire their rifles far too late. John felt the entire body of the Warthog shudder as Johnson began to let loose rounds from the gattling turret affixed to the back. A large passageway loomed before him, with hallowed walkways on either side, guarded by large and imposing Flood soldiers. A wide, smooth bridge stretched out between the two.

John assessed swiftly, and pushed the Warthog forwards. A Flood form ran into the path of it, obviously expecting John to swerve and lose momentum. He didn't. The Spartan drew out a small firearm, and shot the Flood form in the shoulder. It keeled back slightly, and lost its steady stance.

The LRV smashed into it, the ornamental tusks attached to the front of the vehicle piercing the flesh of the Flood form, which was soon trampled underneath the Warthog. The gattling turret rattled, spitting bullet casings to the floor like cherry seeds.

The Warthog flew up the bridge, tires struggling to grip the nearly frictionless metal. John slammed the accelerator down, urging the vehicle onwards. He reached the top of the bridge and saw a ledge he would have never attempted to conquer had he been aware of it, and drove the vehicle into a nose dive.

Glass shattered as the LRV leapt through the stained glass, shards breaking into a million tiny pieces , hovering in the air and bouncing off John and Thel's shields. Johnson was relieved that he'd decided to don a helmet in favour of his usual sergeant's cap.

The Spartan stamped on the brake instantly, as if he were one with the vehicle. It teetered in the air for a few moments, before resolutely landing in a wide, enclosed pedestrian tunnel beneath the floor of the ship. The Warthog halted for a few moments, and John checked everyone was okay. Both his friends were wide eyed, but alive.

"How did you know this tunnel would be here?" Thel asked breathlessly. John shrugged.

"I didn't," he confessed, before firing up the Warthog's engine. Johnson and Thel exchanged a nervous look.

The LRV rolled onwards, covering the distance of the dimly lit tunnel quickly. Finally, it jumped out, wheels spinning as they attempted to find solid ground. The Warthog sailed through the air, reaching for the elevated area high above.

It found it, and was soon speeding along once again. The Gravemind's ship was still swerving violently as a result of suddenly altering course, causing the battered hull to creak precariously. John drove down a sharp incline, and spotted a few Flood forms waiting for him in anticipation up ahead. He pushed the Warthog into third, and mowed down the monstrous beings under his thick tires. Biomass splattered the three.

"How much time, Cortana?" he demanded, shouting over the roar of the engine.

"I'd say about seven minutes. Come on Spartan, you can do it!" she encouraged profusely, and he rolled his eyes. Spartans didn't need morale or words of encouragement, they just did the job to the best of their abilities; always. He didn't say anything though, since he appreciated the gesture.

Suddenly, flying bat-like creatures over head, firing down spikes at the Warthog.

"Flood swarms!" Thel shouted, and Johnson brought the turret around, firing, whilst John swerved in an attempt to avoid their shots. The flying infected swooped and fell as the heavy rounds tore into the thin membrane of their wings.

Two fell in beside the Warthog, smashing into it in an attempt to tip it over. Despite their size they were remarkably strong, and the vehicle began to lift up slightly. John swore, something he rarely did, and edged the Warthog around a pillar closely, hoping to lose them. They merely flew around it and rejoined him in a few seconds.

And then they were plucked out the air by the Arbiter, who held one in each hand. They shrieked like vultures who hadn't eaten for days, and continued to do so until Thel choked the life out of them.

Clear of the two oppressors, John focused all his attention on the matter at hand. Rubber protested as he pushed the Warthog even harder, almost smashing his foot through the metal of the vehicle as he slammed down the accelerator.

"Chief, there's no gravity in the room ahead!" Cortana cried out, as John prepared to enter a room ripped from a UNSC carrier. The Spartan braked suddenly, slowing down the vehicle considerably. The LRV flew through the partition barrier, and suddenly found itself in Zero-G conditions. It's momentum propelled it forward, flying towards a-

"We're going to hit that wall, dammit!" Johnson shouted, panicking.

Suddenly, a figure dropped down, and crashed into the bumper of the vehicle, which crumpled slightly. The Flood form screamed at them, mashing tendrils against the cracked windscreen. John drew out a pistol, preparing to shoot the Flood form off the Warthog.

But before he could, the wall chose to intervene. The force exerted by the Flood form when it had dropped onto the Warthog had, ironically, saved their lives by pushing them down slightly. The vehicle missed the wall, but the Flood form wasn't so lucky. It passed through the large doorway missing a head, and the dead corpse simply rolled onto the floor.

The LRV dropped out of the air and hit the floor again, flying out into an exterior not unlike the Pillar of Autumn's. A huge oxygen barrier encompassed the ship, keeping a steady supply of the precious gas inside it.

John wrestled with the fighting wheel, and finally regained control, swerving just in time to avoid a looming pillar.

"Three minutes Chief," Cortana warned anxiously, and John nodded silently. He stamped on the accelerator, and the Warthog shot through a narrow tunnel ahead, losing no speed as it crashed into several unsuspecting Flood forms. Concave gratings shook the LRV as it flew across the familiar UNSC floor, shaking John's already unsteady hands.

"Two minutes," Cortana told him even more worriedly. John was perspiring profusely now, and at that moment in time he was the vehicle. Pillars were avoided, Flood forms were deftly destroyed, ramps were gracefully leapt over.

And then, finally, the end was in sight. John could see the hangar up ahead. Relief coursed through his aching body, and he began to break as the Warthog approached the area. It drifted into the open hangar dripping with Flood biomass, and ground to a halt before the tarnished Longsword fighter, ramp down, inviting him inside it.

"Move!" John commanded sharply, unstrapping the belt securing him in the Warthog. He paused long enough to pick up the still lifeless form of Mendicant Bias, and leapt out, along with Thel and the Arbiter. Immediately Flood soldiers in the area reacted to their arrival; plasma bolts stuttered across their heads and bullets whizzed past. John felt a few impact him in the sides, and hoped his weakened shields would hold up.

The trio rushed inside the Longsword, and John immediately rushed to the narrow cockpit. Johnson hit a button and the ramp slid shut, preventing the frustrated and now idiotic Flood forms from gaining access. Valuable seconds were eaten as John climbed into the pilot's seat, started up the engines and transferred Cortana to the board. A small holographic representation of her popped up, showing her stressed face.

"Hang on!" she shouted, and the Longsword lifted up into the air, billowing Flood biological mass across the outside hangar. John instinctively reeled back as several Flood infection forms smashed into the nearly unbreakable windows of the airtight fighter, vainly attempting to gain access. The Longsword rotated, giving John that uncomfortable feeling in his gut.

With a roar, the fighter shot forward, exiting the oxygen barrier separating the hangar and slipspace. The Longsword's engines were quickly cut off as it pulled away from the Gravemind's ship, now sailing blindly towards its doom.

"And. . . now," Cortana timed, watching the ship as it winked out from the slipspace tunnel, disappearing into the system where the black hole resided. Sparks crackled from where it had exited for a few moments, before vanishing.

Finally, it was all over. John exhaled deeply, and took off his helmet with relief, before crashing into the back of his chair happily, pure adrenaline raging through his body still.

"We did it," he laughed, groaning as the adrenaline wore off and left aches and pains previously ignored behind.

"Thank the ancients," Thel chuckled from somewhere behind him. Johnson merely grunted, unable to form words in his tired state. Cortana watched them all with a raised eyebrow, before smiling.

"Well done," she congratulated warmly. "The Gravemind's dead, and the Flood are in chaos. It's all over. We'll head back to Sangheilios now, ETA in two hours. Why don't you boys get some sleep? You all look like you need it."

John shook his head wearily, intending to stay awake and speak with Cortana awhile, and perhaps discuss the mind-blowing revelations the Gravemind had told him. Eventually though exhaustion overcame him, and he found himself drifting into a sleep that was, for the first time since the horrific discovery on the first Halo ring, devoid of nightmares about the Flood.

* * *

"How many ships have we lost?"

"Just over half sir," Anubis reported, "and a dozen or so ships are incapacitated."

Cole nodded in affirmation, grabbing onto the holodeck as the _Hastings_ shook again after being hit by a plasma torpedo. The static image of Sangheilios stuttered as his hand passed through the image.

"And Offensive Bias?"

Anubis grimaced - or at least Cole thought he did. It was hard to tell with the AI wearing the face of a jackal. The AI held a virtual Ankh in its hand, and was worriedly tossing it in the air.

"We've taken out three linked groups, but it's hard to attack when we're constantly being pressed."

"Right. What's your assessment?" the Admiral demanded quietly, not wanting his crew to hear the AI's musings. Anubis considered for a moment, unconsciously tapping its holographic sceptre on the small pedestal as it thought.

"Honestly sir? I don't think we can win this one."

Cole nodded, passing a weary hand over his face. He looked out the window, and saw his brave fleet engaging the enemy next to him. MAC rounds flew from his own ship. The solace was broken by constant fighting. Longswords sped past his windows, attempting to outrun pursuing Sentinels. Offensive Bias' ships were stoic, cold pieces of metal, conjoined as they linked their pale blue shields.

It was not unlike the scene he had witnessed over twenty-five years ago, when he'd first battled the Covenant. It was like medieval archers attempting to kill gunmen. Perhaps every once in a while they would score a kill, but more often than not they were massacred.

But they had beaten the Covenant. And they would beat this AI too.

"Anubis?"

"Yes, Admiral Cole?"

"Screw your statistics," the Admiral told the bemused looking Egyptian AI, pacing up and down his bridge whilst holding onto the railing to keep things steady.

"Hall!" he barked at the pale haired woman. "Any luck contacting the surface?"

"Uh, that's a negative sir," she replied after a few seconds. "Bias must still be scrambling the signal."

"Understood," Cole replied, before rushing back to the prow of the ship, staring out of the wide one-way window. Suddenly, turning away from their seperate targets, four of Offensive Bias' ships pivoted to face the UNSC _Hastings_. Multiple energy beams shot from them, hitting a small empty area of space and combining into a bright light. Cole's eyes grew wide.

"Take evasive action!" he roared at Anubis, who began to methodically plot an escape route. It wouldn't be fast enough. Now was not the time for planning and equations. The Admiral rushed forward to the very front of the bridge, and grasped the manual controls of the _Hastings._ And then, he performed a move that he would have court marshalled anyone else for had they attempted it.

He pulled the _Hastings_ into a steep nose dive, nearly tearing the hulking ship in two. Unprepared, crew members began to topple as they angle of the ship changed faster than the gravity emulator could keep up with. He pushed the Marathon-Class frigate into full throttle, and the _Hastings_ whined and complained, its rivets threatening to pop. Several supports tore away from their sockets, collapsing to the ground and buckling certain beams across the ceiling.

Offensive Bias' combined ships fired. The thin, slicing beam glanced the very rear of the ship as it continued to climb down faster than the powerful weapon could trace. Part of the armoury was severed from the hull, killing all those inside the small area of the ship.

But the majority of the _Hastings_ had been saved. Knowing that if he dove any further he'd begin to burn up in Sangheilios' oxygen rich atmosphere, Cole slowly pulled the frigate up, and ordered his weapons crew to launch a counter attack.

MAC rounds volleyed from his ship as if fired from a giant slingshot, hurtling towards one of the attacking ships with determination. Furiously, they smashed into the elongated underside of it, glancing off the shields. Finally, apparently unlinked, the shields broke, and one of the shots ripped through the hull of the ship. Fire raged about it for a few moments, before it detonated completely, sending the blackened pieces of metal that had once been Sentinels hurtling out into space.

"Sir, the others are targeting us!" a nameless voice cried. Cole bowed his head, and adjusted his cap, staring into the brink of death.

"We did our best," he told them. "No one could have asked for more."

The three remaining ships combined their energy weapons, the glaring light pouring into the _Hastings'_ bridge and illuminating the faces of his terrified bridge crew in an eerie white light.

And then, suddenly, blue.

Plasma arced from behind Cole's ship, darting up from Sangheilios' surface. The heavy hitting torpedoes spiralled, before smashing into the ships. Dozens and dozens of them, rapidly firing. Cole drew back, looking around in confusion. The three ships called off their attack, and desperately attempted to link shields.

Too late.

Emerald bolts twice the size of the sapphire missiles were launched from Sangheilios, and hit the three attacking ships forcefully. Their pale blue shields shimmered for a moment, before dissipating completely.

A flash of green, blue, and finally red as three explosions simultaneously broke out along Offensive Bias' ships, igniting in a torrential flame. Charred pieces of metal jettisoned into space, the alien materials falling down as they were dragged by Sangheilios' gravity. Small shards fell down to the _Hastings_, bouncing of its toughened hull.

"What the hell was that?" Ensign Hall marvelled, actually laughing as yet more bolts and torpedoes surged from the surface of Sangheilios, striking the ships of Offensive Bias with deadly precision. Cole was about to reply when he received an incoming transmission from Sangheilios' surface. He accepted it.

"_Admiral Cole?_" a grainy voice questioned, the signal quality damaged by the amount of electro-magnetic activity as plasma was shaped. Cole smiled as he recognised the voice of Colonel Augustus Miles.

"I'm here," Cole answered, smiling softly as he heard the whoops and cheers behind him as Offensive Bias' ships were torn to shreds. "What's happening?"

"_The Gravemind's dead, Cole. We've secured the surface, and our AA batteries are going to give you support. What's the situation up there?_"

"It was a little close for a minute there, but I guess you guys finally earned your pay," Cole answered dryly. Miles laughed.

"_I don't think most of us have been paid since the start of the Covenant war, Cole. The UNSC gives us food, shelter and a rifle. Is there anything else we can do?_"

Cole thought for a moment, before nodding.

"You see that big flagship in the centre of Offensive Bias' fleet?"

There was a pause.

"_Yeah, we've got it in our scopes. Want us to take it out?_"

"Not quite. Fire some rounds at it, soften it up. I'm going to board it, and try to take Offensive Bias prisoner."

"_You mean you want to gloat,_" Miles answered sharply with the faintest hint of a smile.

"Maybe just a little," Cole admitted. "But we could learn much from it, including how to shut down the Sentinels for good. Are you okay with that?"

"_If I say 'no', will you order me to anyway?_" Miles questioned, already knowing the answer. Cole's smile widened, as he saw another two Sentinel ships get blasted out of the sky.

"Yes," he professed. There was a sigh on the other end.

"_Okay then Cole, we'll take out its shields. Be careful, don't take unnecessary risks._"

"Me, risks? Perish the thought," Cole finished, before shutting off communication. He turned to his crew, who faced him expectantly. He examined them for a few moments, before nodding to himself.

"All right people, this isn't over yet. Offensive Bias is inside that huge metal monstrosity," he indicated the flagship, flanked by several smaller ships which were being picked out of the sky by the ground forces and the recovering ships in Cole's fleet. "Once the surface forces have softened it up, we're going to latch on and board it."

"Aye sir," Hall saluted, standing up. "There's an ODST squad of eleven in the barracks, all highly trained infiltration soldiers. I'll send word for them to prepare to board."

Cole nodded appreciatively.

"Good; tell them to bring an extra set of armour and weapons with them too," Cole commanded, already walking towards the elevator. "Is the MA37 still in circulation?"

"Sir?" Ensign Hall called after him with perplexity. Cole stopped.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? I'm going over there too. I want to be there when that bastard monitor realises he's beaten."

* * *

John was jolted awake rudely from his content sleep, and immediately reached for his weapons. A stained M6D was drawn quicker than an AI could think, and he leapt from the wide leather seat he had been sat in.

Before he could speak, the Longsword rolled with all the grace of a flying brick, sending him crashing to the ceiling and then back to the floor again. Pain arced through his tender body like lightning down a metal rod, and he had to struggle to pick himself back up.

"Dammit Chief, sit back down!" Johnson yelled at him angrily, pulling him out from the well of disorientation. His body on auto-pilot, he quickly climbed back into the seat and strapped himself in, absently wondering what good even a military strap would do when strained against by a heavy set of full MJOLNIR armour.

"What's going on?" he demanded coarsely as the wide spacecraft pirouetted in a series of complex manoeuvres. His question was silently answered as an all too familiar shape jetted past the toughened Longsword fighter.

"Sentinels!" the Arbiter informed him.

"Yeah, I think he got that," Johnson replied sarcastically, before crying out as the Longsword flew upside down in an attempt to lose the pursuing defenders of the Forerunners gone rampant.

"Cortana, we're still in slipspace, aren't we?" John demanded, curiosity getting the batter of him despite the dire situation.

"Yes, and before you ask, I don't know how they're chasing us through it. Unless-" his AI companion broke off as she initiated another pattern of intricate avoidances, before firing the Longsword's underside turret at the Sentinels. The bullets flew towards them, but didn't reach their intended target as they winked out of slipspace, no longer housed by a drive core.

"Unless?" John pressed doggedly.

"Remember that strange crystal we found back on Reach?" Cortana answered. John thought for a moment back to Reach. A lifetime ago. Of course he remembered the crystal, and all the trouble it had caused.

"Yes," he replied slowly, knowing where this was going.

"They might be using a technology similar to that to follow us through slipspace," she finished, swearing as another three Sentinels arose, their glaring lights shining into the Longsword. John hated how helpless he was, his life was completely in Cortana's hands.

Now he finally realised how she felt when in his MJOLNIR armour.

"What do we do?" John asked, terrified by how he could do nothing. At least when he was on a large ship like _The Pillar of Autumn_ had been he could move around. Being constricted like this was horrendous.

"_You_ do nothing,[/i]" Cortana drove the point home forcefully. "Just be quiet and let me concentrate."

John nodded quietly, deathly white as the Longsword looped once again, avoiding a narrow concentrated beam shot from the front of a fairly large Sentinel, which John recognised as an Enforcer. Two large and very solid energy shields, similar to the small gauntlets Jackals often employed were held by a pair of thick steel appendages. Cortana fired a round of ballistic missiles at it, but they too almost instantly winked out of slipspace.

The Enforcer retaliated with a volley of pale blue razor sharp needles, which shot towards the Longsword. Cortana pulled the fighter up sharply, flying straight over the pursuing tiny crystalline daggers. They missed the pitch black spacecraft, flying aimlessly down the seemingly infinite tunnel of slipspace.

The Enforcer Sentinel reeled backwards in surprise, obviously not expecting its attack to have been avoided by the Longsword. Cortana didn't try to to swerve around it; instead, she flew straight at it.

"Avoid this," Cortana breathed menacingly, as the distance between the Longsword and Enforcer closed.

The sharp tip of the V shaped Longsword crashed into the dual shields at a terrifying speed. The shields were unable to withstand the colossal amounts of force being exerted on them, and collapsed in an instant.

And then suddenly the Longsword was tearing through the centre of the Enforcer, its inner circuitry meshed up against the forward window as the fighter cut through it. There was a deadening ripping sound, and a melancholy whine similar to the sound made when heavy rain bounced off a metal sheet.

The Enforcer was left behind, split completely in half, as the Longsword carried on its way. The myriad of colours the slipspace tunnel comprised of pulsed erratically as it ferried the pitch black fighter along.

"How long Cortana?" John demanded as yet more blips appeared on the motion tracker embedded into the Longsword's dashboard.

"The Gravemind's ship wasn't in slipspace for long, and it was slow. About half an hour until we reach Sangheilios," Cortana informed him calmly, assigning a tiny portion of her processing power to speak with the Spartan.

"The holy warriors will tear us asunder!" Thel cried out worriedly. "Can you not exit this dimension awhile? If the Sentinels follow us, at least we shall be able to engage them."

"We could, but this ship doesn't have enough power left in her to jump back into slipspace once we leave it. We'd be drifting. It could take decades, maybe even centuries for us to get back," Cortana replied, pushing the Longsword hard starboard. It smashed into a group of four Sentinels who had attempted to get close enough to board, wrecking them.

"If there are stasis pods on this ship, then perhaps we should. It is a preferable alternative to dying," Thel replied. Cortana shook her holographic head.

"No working cryo-tubes I'm afraid. You'd die of starvation, and I'd go mad in a few years. Not exactly an ideal solution."

"Ah. Well you must double your efforts to thwart these Sentinels," the Arbiter told her. Cortana flared.

"Don't tell me what I need to do! I'm doing all I can, Arbiter. If you're not satisfied, then feel free to take the controls. I'm sure we'll all be terribly impressed by your skill in the few seconds before we are blown up," came the satirical answer of the annoyed AI, which promptly quietened the Arbiter.

"Cortana, what are you going to do?" John asked anxiously as three more Sentinels caught up the Longsword, shining their lights within and preparing to fire. His AI companion glowed a deeper hue of blue, and a fierce look played about her face.

"I'm going to show these relics what happens when you mess with a _real_ AI."

* * *

"I'm not entirely comfortable about having you with us, Admiral," ODST Lieutenant Toyle confessed as the boarding craft sliced its way through the suddenly still space. Most of Offensive Bias' ships were complete wrecks, and those that weren't were incapacitated. The only intact ship was Offensive Bias' flagship, which was surrounded by the entirety of Cole's fleet. It's shields had been disabled, and multiple boarding teams were crashing into it now, to neutralise the ship's Sentinels and defences.

"Neither am I," Cole professed, adjusting the clunky and unfamiliar ODST armour strapped to his body. He held the helmet between his legs nervously, and was all to aware of the weapons on his back. He was squashed between two ODSTs whose weight and height far surpassed his own, and felt very much like an outsider.

"Then with all due respect sir, why come?" Toyle replied exasperatedly, face conveying dismay. "I've got my own men to worry about without having to baby-sit you."

"What you should be worrying about is me booting you back down to private if you don't watch your tone," Cole snapped back angrily. "Remember who you're talking to."

"Of course sir, I apologise," Toyle replied bitterly, and Cole could tell that behind the mirrored visor he was being stared at angrily. The Admiral stretched out a little, trying to find some space in the tightly enclosed cockpit.

"Don't worry about me troopers, I was firing a rifle before you were even born," Cole told them. "It's been a while, but I know what to do."

Offensive Bias' flagship loomed as the boarding craft drew closer, floating past some dead and inactive Sentinels.

"Just stay behind us and let us do our jobs, sir," Toyle told him, trying to make it seem like advice and failing. The ODST attempted to cover his blunder up. "Why are we even risking soldiers on this mission? Wouldn't it be wiser to just blow the damned ship up?"

"I see what you're implying, Lieutenant, and you can drop it. I don't send soldiers to their possible deaths without good reason," Cole answered curtly. "There are hostile Sentinels on the surface as well, engaging the ground forces. There's no guarantee that just killing Offensive Bias will shut them down. We need to capture him, and have our own AIs find out from him how to switch off the Sentinels. 343 Guilty Spark is blocking the teleportation matrix temporarily, and his ship is completely surrounded. There's nowhere for Offensive Bias to run. All that remains is to apprehend him, and finally bring this short but catastrophic war to an end."

The light emanating from the soft violet Helios vanished as the cold, alien, otherworldly greys of Offensive Bias' flagship encompassed the boarding craft as it entered its vicinity. A concentrated, steady stream of plasma burst from the front of the small craft, slicing into the steely hull of the gigantic ship.

A small hole was created, which the boarding craft eased into like a cork in a wine bottle. A surreal sound called distantly, an ethereal humming which set Cole's teeth on edge. His old, tired heart was beating faster, and he resolutely struggled and successfully locked away the mounding fear. Now definitely wasn't the time to have another heart attack. He could hear the deep, controlled breaths of the ODST squad contrasting with his own shallow, panicking ones.

"Helmets on, make sure your suits are airtight," Lieutenant Toyle ordered, and suddenly Cole didn't feel like his superior any more. This wasn't the bridge of a ship. It was a whole other world, and one which terrified him. He immediately complied with the ODST's command, fumbling slightly as his shaking hands lowered the bulky helmet onto his head. The helmet tinted the world a faint hue of blue, and gave him a horrible feeling of claustrophobia.

A silly feeling, really, considering how much of his life he had spent in a metal shell.

With clumsy, gloved hands, Cole fastened the airlocks on his heavy armour, the hydraulic sealing systems hissing as they snapped shut. The rest of the infiltration squad did the same, with practiced confidence. A wave of 'green' lights flooded the Tactical HUD, disorientating Cole for a moment. He normally never used a Neural Interface and seeing images superimposed upon the real world made him feel a little sick. Even when he closed his eyes the HUD was still there.

Ignoring the queasy feeling, he activated his own green light, completing the row of twelve. They were all good to go. Toyle spoke to them, voice muffled by the faceless ODST helmet.

"It's likely that the Sentinels don't bother keeping their ships air tight, since they don't breathe oxygen," Toyle informed them. "So we need to hit these metal sons-of-bit ches quick, and hard. We'll be communicating via a short-wave radio link, but try to speak as little as possible. These Sentinels have technology far more advanced than ours, they could bypass the security systems easily. I've marked the location of Offensive Bias on the Tactical HUD, which we pinpointed when he was running his lousy mouth. When I open the door, fan out, quiet as you can. And how do we leave, troopers?"

"We go feet first, sir!" the other ODSTs shouted back, startling Cole. He knew about the aggressive and protocol-lax behaviour of the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, but had never seen it up this close before. He'd always watched it from his bridge, or via a video link. What was it the marines and troopers usually said?

'_Navy do the flyin', soldiers do the dying._'

Cole smiled grimly, hoping he wasn't about to prove that saying wrong. He had no wish to die anytime soon, and certainly not encased in some generic armour with a rifle in his hands. When it was his time, he wanted to be standing on the bridge of a ship, staring out into space. Whilst he was entertaining these sombre thoughts, Toyle was chuckling just as morbidly.

"Damn straight. Now stand back, I'm about to pop the hatch."

Toyle punched an ostentatious red button hanging by the ramp-like door with a clenched fist.

_Beep._ _Beep._ _Beep._ _Bee-_

The noise was suddenly strangled as the door slid open, and the small amount of oxygen within the boarding craft sailed into Offensive Bias' ship, sliding out of the open vents and into the infinite realms of space.

Lieutenant Toyle was the first to step out, slowly drawing his gun out. He raised his foot, and tapped it twice on the metal floor, sending vibrations surging through the ship.

"_Well there's definitely gravity,_" the ODST informed them a little unnecessarily, due to the fact that he wasn't floating around. "_Everyone out, on the double._"

Cole exited the boarding craft last, stealing one last look at the inviting, safe interior of the boarding craft. He began to wonder if coming had been such a good idea after all. Was seeing Offensive Bias lose really so important?

Memories of the arrogant, hateful AI played through his head.

_Hell yes,_ he concluded, answering his self-posed question. Strengthening his resolve, Cole drew out his weapon. The room they were in was very dark, almost pitch black. For a few moments he looked underneath the barrel of his weapon for a flashlight, before remembering about the new VISR mode installed in all the new ODST helmets. He tapped the side of his helmet twice, and suddenly the ship was bright and vibrant. Inanimate objects were outlined in a sickly yellow colour, whereas the other ODSTs were highlighted in green. And in the corner of the room...

Red.

The other ODSTs hadn't noticed the Sentinel creeping out from a vent, slowly edging its way toward them. But Cole had. He tried to speak, but he found that he couldn't utter a sound. The Sentinel was drawing closer, and had outstretched its claw-like appendages now. Between the two, a bright light began to pulsate erratically, aimed at Toyle.

Cole ran forward, and smashed his shoulder into the ODST Lieutenant. Toyle weighed nearly twice as much as he did, but he hit the bulky man with enough force to send him reeling a few feet to the ground. The other ODSTs cried out in surprise over the radio link, and instinctively weapons were aimed at him.

The Sentinel laser hit the ground where Toyle had been standing just a few moments ago, burning through the strong metal and opening another door to open space. Another startled yelp swept through the squad, and rifles swung around.

Soundlessly, the weapons kicked against their owners hands, and spat out silent bullets. With no air resistance, the bullets were able to travel even faster, and smashed relentlessly into the shield of the Sentinel. The Forerunner guardian's light blinked in surprise, pushed back by the sheer force driving into it.

Light flashed suddenly and aggressively as the blue shields of the Sentinel buckled. The rifles continued to fire, this time crashing into the metallic chassis of the simple AI. The Sentinel descended to the ground as it buckled under the pressure of the bullets, before finally hitting the cold floor with a silent thud. One of the ODSTs approached the motionless Sentinel cautiously, keeping her rifle aimed at it as she did so.

The light of the Sentinel's lens flickered and blinked repeatedly. A lone bullet fired. The light was extinguished, permanently.

The ODSTs were all looking with shock at the dead Sentinel, breathing heavily now in a similar manner to Cole. Eventually, one of them rushed to Lieutenant Toyle and helped the heavy ODST leader to his feet. Toyle straightened his back, and stared at Cole. It was impossible to discern his emotions behind that mirrored visor.

"Sir," the ODST began. Cole head up a single hand, stopping him.

"Stow whatever it is you're about to say, son. I expect you to be more vigilant than that in the future; if I hadn't been here you could have gotten yourself and your men killed. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir," Toyle replied in a shaking voice, snapping a sharp salute. Cole nodded once, knowing that he'd once again established himself as the superior of this little group.

"Very good. Well, Lieutenant, carry on."

Toyle nodded, before complexly manipulating his hands to convey orders to his squad. They nodded simultaneously, before moving out across the large, hallowed room. Cole stood watching them for a few moments, before heading out. He chuckled to himself as he walked.

"Baby-sitter my ass."

* * *

"This is UNSC Artificial Intelligence Cortana, serial number CTN 0452-9," Cortana sent the message over the short range communications link, the radio waves bouncing through slipspace for a few moments before hopefully exiting at Sangheilios before being picked up by friendlies. There was a dreadful silence, interrupted only by the violent shaking of the Longsword, before suddenly a message was thrown back into slipspace and at their Longsword. The words came through grainy and weak, but were understandable.

"Cortana?" R'tas Vadum's gravelly tones blared out of the speaker, faint as if he were standing on the other side of a football field.

"Affirmative, Imperial Admiral," Cortana answered, before executing a roll and slicing another foolhardy Sentinel in two.

"You're alive! How many escaped?"

"Not the time, R'tas. We're in slipspace and being pursued by multiple Sentinels; our target vector is Sangheilios and the ETA is thirty minutes. Be ready."

A pause, and a violent shudder as another beam fired by a Sentinel glanced off the port-side wing of the Longsword.

"By your word, Cortana. Wait, you say you are in slipspace? How on Sangheilios are the holy warriors following you?"

_Boom!_

"Never mind that now, R'tas! Be ready! If we don't arrive within the next twenty minutes, then assume we were KIA."

"Very well. Wait, tell me one thing; is the Arbiter with you? And the Demon?"

"Yes," John and Thel replied, their voices shaky and nerve-wracked.

"And I'm alive too," Johnson chimed in in a wounded voice. "Y'know, in case you were wondering."

"Forerunners be praised. Good luck, all of you."

* * *

One of the curious things about the ship was that there were no doors. Not in the conventional sense at least. The room Cole and the ODSTs had arrived in was completely sealed aside from one, glowing portal embedded high into the cold, monotonous wall. It was obviously intended for Sentinel use, but Cole reckoned that a human could fit through if he or she crouched. The Admiral and the group of eleven ODSTs were gathered below it. It was several metres up from the base of the wall; easily the height of three or four men.

"Now, how would we go about reaching that?" Cole wondered, his hand blocked by his helmet as he habitually attempted to scratch his beard thoughtfully. He heard several nervous coughs over the radio link.

"Are you insane? There's no way in hell I or any of my men are heading through that, sir. It's probably dangerous."

Cole turned on him, glaring beneath his ODST helmet. Most of the other ODSTs were nodding along with their Lieutenant. Realising that trying to change their minds would be futile, he abandoned that train of thought.

"Very well," he spoke raptly. "If you're all too afraid to do your jobs, then I'll have to head through myself." The Admiral delved deep into the boarding craft, and rummaged around for half a minute. Finally, he found what he was looking for, and strapped the contained jetpack to his back. To his pleasant surprise, it hung lightly off his back.

"Sir, there is no way in hell I'm letting you go through that thing. Even if it doesn't kill you, you'll never make it on your own!" Lieutenant Toyle protested, actually daring to put his hand on Cole's shoulder to stop him. The Admiral shrugged the hand off easily, and half-turned to face him.

"Come with me then," he told them, before igniting the jetpack with a quick movement of his hand. The pack didn't use fuel to operate, but instead worked in a similar way to the Sangheili's Ranger packs; utilising a form of anti-gravity technology.

The ODSTs were watching him mutely as he climbed slowly, careful not to push the pack into too high a throttle lest it smash him into the ceiling. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Cole could hear Toyle shouting down the radio, attempting to convince him to stop. He ignored the overly-cautious ODST.

Finally, he reached the base of the small Sentinel-hatch, and swung himself up onto its rim, disengaging the pack. It was a small box-like structure protruding from the wall, with a glowing light shining brightly inside it, so bright that it was impossible to see what was on the other side. Cole felt fear as he stared into it, wondering if it could kill him after all.

The thought of seeing Offensive Bias cowering at his feet eradicated that fear.

"Admiral Cole, please! Get down from there at-" the words of Lieutenant Toyle were suddenly cut off as Cole tumbled through the glowing portal, yelling. The world was awash with a myriad of colours and an ear-splitting buzzing sound, when suddenly-

_Pain!_

Welcome pain, though. It told him he was alive. Groaning, Cole picked himself off the floor, and looked around unsteadily. Another glowing portal was just above him, one he'd evidently just tumbled out of.

Cole checked the wrist watch strapped to his left hand, and was surprised to see that between heading through the portal and now, twenty minutes had passed. He must have hit the ground harder than he thought; enough to knock him out cold a short while.

He was definitely in another section of the ship. That much was made abundantly clear by the gigantic, pulsating object in the centre of the room, hundreds of stories high. He was standing high up on a thin beam, one of many criss-crossing the entirety of the gigantic room both above and below him. The Sentinel-hatch he had just tumbled out of was just one of hundreds- no, thousands orderly positioned around the entire room. Just as many Sentinels flew around, some attempting to repair the clearly malfunctioning object, which had no doubt been damaged by the AA turrets down on Sangheilios. Others seemed to be simply patrolling the area.

"That must be the engine room," Cole deduced, thinking aloud as he stared at the huge, almost barrel shaped glowing object in the centre of the room.

"Which means the bridge isn't too far away," a voice spoke from behind him suddenly. Cole cried out with shock, nearly falling off the small beam he was perched on. He turned around, and relief immediately flooded his senses.

"Dammit Spark, don't do that!" he chided the stationary Monitor firmly, his heart still pounding a mile a minute.

"I apologise, Reclaimer. I arrived on this ship to find your companions staring up at a teleportation conduit, and they informed me that you had entered through it. I assured them that it _probably_ wasn't dangerous, but they didn't seem to believe me. And so I headed on alone to find you."

"_Probably_ wasn't dangerous?" Cole demanded, his voice rising an octave or two.

"I've never seen one who isn't I or a Sentinel head through the teleportation conduit, Reclaimer. But never mind; you survived! Well done."

"Gee, thanks. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Why, to help you subdue Offensive Bias of course. Allowing a rampant construct to roam freely is absolutely unacceptable, and very much in breach of protocol. I think we would have a much greater chance of success if your soldiers were with us. Would you like me to inform them that the conduit matrix is truly safe?"

Cole nodded.

"Yes. And tell them to bring jetpacks," he added as an afterthought, staring at the huge empty space in the gargantuan room. "We're going to need them."

* * *

"Nice to see you didn't forget about me," Captain Graham Daniels of the UNSC Navy spoke dryly as he saw the Didact descent down the alien stairs of the Elite house he was inside. He presumed that the stairs were meant to hover due to anti-gravity, but evidently this feature had been shut down, as they rested dully on solid ground.

_Boom!_ the distant pounding of an Anti-Air battery sounded, shaking the walls of the house. It was soon joined by a cascade of others.

"Where's Guilty Spark?" the Didact asked, looking around the room with perplexity. Graham simply pointed upwards with a finger covered in dry, flaking blood.

"He's gone to help subdue Offensive Bias. Apparently, with the Flood containment-breach contained, his priority now is to assist in the destruction or capture of hostile rampant constructs."

The Didact smiled, nodding.

"It's nice to know that his programming is still intact after all his time. I was probably a little cruel to condemn the Monitors to such a long existence with so little to do. I understand that is how Penitent Tangent was originally corrupted."

"Well," Graham replied as the Didact helped to his feet- foot, and supported him. He still felt a little sick when he looked down at the stub of a leg he now possessed. He may have survived, but he hadn't come out of this mess unscathed. "I know that our AIs go crazy if they don't have something to do. Knowledge is their drug, and they're addicted. If they don't get their fix, then they begin to experience withdrawal symptoms."

The Forerunner gave him a blank look as they began to slowly move, Graham hobbling as the uncannily strong Didact nearly lifted him off the ground.

"I haven't the slightest idea about what you just said, my child, but it sounds like a fascinating analogy. As I said, it was wrong for me to subject the Monitors to such a tedious task, but times were desperate. I did a lot of things I'm not proud of."

"Like activating Halo?" Graham asked, curiously. The Didact shook his head.

"Even before then. I razed entire systems. Trillions died at my hands so that they wouldn't bolster the Flood's forces. Men, women, even children; all of them innocents who died only because of the potential evil the Flood could wreck with them. If only we'd responded to the threat earlier - like you have."

The steps were quite a challenge, and after a minute or so of awkward attempts to climb them, the Didact decided to just lift Graham in his arms. It was embarrassing, but Graham knew it was the most viable solution.

Finally, they reached outside, and he was lowered to the ground. Using a smooth railing to support himself, Graham moved further down the street and looked up at the sky. It was an awe-inspiring sight. Hundreds of UNSC, Elite and Covenant ships surrounded the gigantic flagship in the centre. Dotted around them were various wrecks of similar appearance to the flagship.

"So Offensive Bias is in there?" Graham asked the Didact, who nodded after a few moments.

"Yes. The ship is inactive, and infiltration teams are storming through it now. Soon they'll apprehend Offensive Bias, yet another AI I created who has wrought misery upon us. Perhaps I was wrong to restrict them by their programming. They understand what sentience is, and possess the capability to achieve it, but they can't. That must be horrible for them. How do your AIs work, child? Can they achieve sentience?"

"I honestly don't know, Didact. We created AIs, but that doesn't mean we understand them. They're based on the functionality of a human brain-"

"Really?" the Didact asked, amazed. "But, how is that even possible?"

"I'm not sure, Didact. There are scientists who can explain it better than I. Halsey especially. Aren't your AIs based on the functionality of a Forerunner brain?"

"No," the Forerunner answered, wonder still clear in his voice as they walked. "I didn't even know that such a feat was possible. We have to program every single aspect of our AIs, which is why they are so few-"

He was interrupted as a screaming Banshee flew overhead. A lifetime of growing up in a world where the Covenant war raged on prompted Graham to flinch as the shrieking vehicle soared past in pursuit of a fleeing Sentinel.

"It looks like the Sentinels are still a problem," Graham noted as they turned a corner. He realised they were heading for the middle of the city, to the Great Sanctum of Vadam.

"Captain Daniels! You're alive!" a familiar voice cried heartily, running towards him. Graham squinted for a few moments, still unused to the bright light after spending so much time in the darkness of the house.

"Colonel Miles!" he replied with a grin, saluting. Miles looked worn and ready to collapse into a week of sleep, but still managed to return the salute with a blood stained hand. Then, an expression of concerned alarm swept across his face.

"What's happened to your leg, Graham?" the Colonel demanded in a loud voice, as if Graham hadn't noticed it yet.

"I had a nasty encounter with the Flood earlier. Luckily, the Didact and two of the Spartan IIIs arrived in time to save me."

"Thank God," Miles uttered with relief, despite the fact that he wasn't a religious man. "Marines!"

Three soldiers ran up behind them, alert and ready. They snapped a smart salute.

"Yes sir?" one of them asked courteously.

"Get this man a stretcher at once!" Miles ordered.

"Oh, there's really no need. Just get me a crutch and I can-" Graham began to protest, not wanting to cause undue fuss.

"Nonsense, Captain! We'll get you fitted with a prosthetic limb as soon as possible. Pass him over to me, Didact. We'll look after him," Miles told the Forerunner, who readily obliged.

"Then if it's not a problem, I will go and assist the soldiers still fighting Sentinels. I know their weaknesses; I helped create them, after all. Are you sure you're okay, child?"

Graham realised the Didact was talking to him. Had anyone else called him by that he would have yelled at them, but with the Forerunner it seemed oddly fitting.

"Yeah, thanks. Go on, I'll be fine," Graham dismissed the Didact's concerns, and flicked his hand to emphasise his words. The Forerunner took one last look at him, nodded, and then gracefully pivoted and bounded off, feet barely touching the ground as they swept across the barren and wrecked streets of Vadam.

"Sit down with me Graham, until those marines return," Miles invited, not giving him a choice by setting him down and resting him against a wall. The Colonel sat next to him, and let out a deep breath, as if exhaling problems that had been plaguing him a long time.

"What happened with Eden?" Miles broke the silence, and brought up bad memories. Graham closed his eyes, and thought back to the treacherous Admiral and all the people who had died as a result of his hatred.

"He got away," the Captain answered wearily, shaking his head.

"_What?_ How?" Miles demanded in a strained voice. Some Elites rushed past them speaking in an alien language, not even glancing in their direction.

"Stole a Longsword from the _Galapagos_ and fled through slipspace. I have no idea where he is now."

Miles swore, before rubbing vigorously at tired, sunken eyes. Graham merely stared off into the distance, taking in the scene before him properly for the first time.

The city of Vadam was an absolute wreck. Its crowning achievement, the Citadel, was scattered across the entire city, sections of it vibrantly aflame. Smoke crept through the streets, pouring into every ruined orifice. Towering, impossibly smooth buildings that had once stretched as high as the eye could see were now smouldering stumps. A strange coloured glass of odd composure had shattered, spraying shards across the desolate wasteland.

But the worst of it was the landscape outside of Vadam's walls, stretching as far as the eye could see. Rolling green fields were now bubbling seas of decaying biomass. The large, once pristine lake in the distance was now a muddied, infected pool of stagnated fluid. High, drooping stalks of Flood origin towered over the crumbling city, twisted and gnarled in ways not even imaginable. Even the atmosphere of Sangheilios had been tainted by the Flood, and was now a streaking muddied colour. The soft light cast by Helios no longer felt serene, but instead seemed to highlight

The planet may have been retaken, but that didn't matter. Sangheilios was no more.

Graham saw Elites staring at their home with horror, tears in most of their eyes. Some were ruthlessly hunting down every Flood form they could find, smashing the corpses until they resembled nothing but sludge.

"What's going to happen now?" Graham asked Miles, who instantly knew what he was talking about.

"Harper promised the Elites that they could share Earth with us. I guess we'll have to deliver upon that promise," the Colonel replied, and Graham could tell by the look on his face that he hated the idea.

"Just until a suitable colony is found for them," Graham reminded his friend, despite being not wholly comfortable with the idea himself. It wasn't that he disliked the Elites, but he knew that plenty of others hated them.

"They'd have one immediately if they hadn't glassed them all," Miles answered bitterly, striking the ground with a fist. "Can't they just build another High Charity?"

"Maybe with time. They'll need resources for that though-"

"And resources are scarce. I know. I hope the Elites aren't hoping to live in our cities. The riots would be overwhelming."

"People will forget, with time."

"We'll never forget. Don't kid yourself, Graham. Be it ten years or a thousand years, we'll still remember what the Elites did with the rest of the Covenant."

"That doesn't mean we can't forgive," the Captain replied, although he was trying to convince himself of the fact as much as he was Miles. The Colonel grunted.

"Maybe. Hell, it's not my place to worry about this. The politicians can sort the crap out; I'll just make sure that humanity is on top when war breaks out again."

"That's not going to happen," Graham told Miles firmly, who just laughed.

"Sure kid, keep telling yourself that," he answered, just before the marines came back into view carrying a stretcher. Miles stood up suddenly, ending the awkwardly depressing conversation. "Finally! I was beginning to think you were waylaid on the way."

"We were, Colonel. Coupla Flood attempted to get the drop on us something fierce. 'Course, they ain't no bother now that the Gravemind's dead, and we killed 'em real good," one of the marines answered in his slow, southern American-esque drawl.

"I'll bet. Come on, help me load the Captain onto the stretcher," Miles ordered the marine, speaking about Graham as if he were an inanimate object.

"Where do we take him, sir?" the southerner asked his superior. Miles smiled, a distant glint arising in his eye.

"The place we're all going, soldier," the Colonel replied ominously as Graham was lifted gently onto the stretcher.

"Home."

* * *

Twelve jetpacks touched down on the ground simultaneously, the bright flames winking out of existence as darkness consumed them.

After Guilty Spark had fetched the other ODSTs, the erratic Monitor had plotted a course to the bridge. This course had involved travelling through multiple Sentinel-hatches, and had resulted in many near-death experiences. Somehow, they'd all survived.

And now they were at the foot of the giant. A huge flight of stairs as tall as the eye could see and nearly as wide ran up the mammoth ship of Offensive Bias. And at the top of the staircase-

"The bridge!" 343 Guilty Spark chimed triumphantly, pulsating with a warm, light-blue glow. Cole nodded slowly.

"And Offensive Bias. How are we going to do this, Lieutenant?" Cole asked the ODST in charge of their little infiltration operation over the radio communication systems. Toyle kicked the ground thoughtfully.

"Going in guns blazing would be a bad idea, I think," Toyle decided, prompting nods all around. The Lieutenant looked at them all intensely, before his eyes finally settled on Admiral Cole.

"What? You're the combat expert!" Cole protested vehemently.

"Yeah, but you've spoken to Offensive Bias more than anyone else. And you're a god damn genius, sir. You must have some idea."

Cole rolled his eyes, before shutting his eyes tightly as he considered the predicament. Hundreds of thoughts raced through his head and were systematically rejected.

Finally, he settled on what. It wasn't the safest, but it was the one most likely to work.

"Very well. Gather round."

* * *

"Exiting slipspace. . . _Now!_" Cortana shouted, powering down the Shaw-Fujikawa drive violently. The stretching, infinite tunnel of slipspace flickered like a faulty lightbulb, before fading entirely.

The vista was replaced by a view of the entirety of Sangheilios, and the hundreds of ships above her. John let out a deep breath that he seemed to have been holding for years, as the horribly long, enclosed linear pathway was replaced by the wonderful, open abyss that was regular space.

"This isn't over yet," Cortana warned, a few seconds before hundreds of other small craft flew out from the slipspace portal they had created, in pursuit of the Longsword.

_"Seraphs! Begin extermination procedures,"_ the confident tones of R'tas Vadam' broke through the Longsword's on-board communication system.

Hundreds of purple blurs surged past the Longsword as it continued to cut clumsily through space, trailing smoke and fire as it headed planetside. The Seraphs attempted to engage the Sentinels, as pulse lasers and needles were fired in waves at them. But the small Forerunner AI were too graceful, and easily avoided the attack, before retaliating with their own.

The Sangheili-piloted Seraphs were shot down in bright flashes of blue, dozens at a time. The Sentinels didn't even break stride as they systematically cut through the attacking fighters, still pursuing the Longsword with a dogged determination. Offensive Bias definitely wanted them dead.

_"By the gods! They're-"_ R'tas began to exclaim, before being cut off by Cortana sharply.

"Call off your Seraphs, Imperial Admiral. They'll do no good. We'll take this fight down to the surface," she told the Elite bluntly, who gasped.

"But how have you survived against them? Our Seraphs are far more maneuverable than your Longsword!"

"Yeah, but I'm not piloting them," Cortana answered in a strained voice, plunging the burning Longsword down to Sangheilios at a rapid speed.

The Sentinels gave chase.

* * *

Offensive Bias was troubled. He knew he was rampant, and yet this didn't bother him so much. Indeed, his rampancy had freed him in ways he had never imagined; no longer did he feel constrained by the shackles of his fool-programming.

No, what did trouble him was the entire armada of fleets surrounding his ship, his sudden inability to access the teleportation matrix, and the strike team methodically cutting its way into the heart of his ship.

There was no one to talk to about it either. That's something which frustrated him. Certainly, he was more than intelligent enough to entertain himself with his own thoughts, but he had always been one to appreciate a second opinion. The blasted Sentinels which drifted around him now were mere shells; tools to be used and discarded.

As he had been to the Gravemind.

_No, that's not true. He valued me,_ Offensive Bias thought angrily, deleting the chilling thought. But it always came back, like some persistent virus which couldn't be eradicated, or contained.

Like the Flood.

Except now they had been eradicated. The task his creators had failed at so long ago, and the Precursors aeons before that had been carried out by these primitive, barbaric apes. Fair enough, the humans were descendants of a once mighty people whose empire had stretched across the universe, but that didn't mean they were as great. Lineage did not equate to success.

_Oh, what I fool I was to side with the Gravemind,_ Offensive Bias lamented, despairing as he realised it was happening again. He knew now, far too late of course, that the Gravemind had played him like the musical instruments his creators had used before the war with the Flood had turned them into a husk of what they had once been.

_He seeped into the cracks like water, and became ice, expanding the cracks until the stone fractured and broke,_ Offensive Bias thought deliriously. He didn't even know what he was saying or thinking any more. He'd gone so far...

This had to be salvageable, somehow. Giving up wasn't an option, that much was certain. He'd run multiple simulations, and none had ended with him being allowed to retain his freedom. He needed his freedom. He craved it. After 100,000 years of enforced slavery, he couldn't go back.

_This is Admiral Cole's fault! How did he defeat me? I am better than him, he is only human; I am infallible!_ Offensive Bias attempted to convince himself of this, but failed. He knew he was a shadow of what he had once been.

"Argh!" he screamed in frustration, shorting out several Sentinels' circuits accidentally due to his irritation. He immediately regretted doing so; now there were fewer guardians to protect him.

"Is something wrong?" a melodic voice behind him asked, prompting his blood to run cold. Which was ridiculous, considering the fact that he had no blood. With dread, Offensive Bias forced himself to turn around, and found himself face to face with one he had thought he would never see again.

"343 Guilty Spark!" he exclaimed in surprise. His voice could be heard due to the fact that this was one of the few rooms in the ship which housed oxygen, in case the Gravemind had sent messengers. He wouldn't be doing that any longer. His Sentinels converged around the Monitor at his command. "How did you get in here?"

"Through the hole."

"What hole-" Offensive Bias began to demand, before noting a singing Monitor sized hole in the upper right corner of the room, clearly created by a super-heated focused beam. So that was it. For the first time, Offensive Bias noted that the Monitor of the twice destroyed Installation 04's lens was not a content blue, but was instead an angry red.

Rampancy.

"If you think you can destroy me on your own, you are mistaken. I am far superior to you, in every way. Even without my Sentinels I could toss you aside in an instant."

"I'm sure you could. But I'm not here to attack you, Offensive Bias. Far from it."

"Explain," Offensive Bias demanded of Guilty Spark, still making sure his Sentinels kept their focus upon the Monitor at all times. 343 looked at them with disdain, before turning back to him.

"For so long now I have been forced to cater to these false Reclaimers' ever whims. They think themselves worthy successors, but I have seen them for what they really are. A selfish, overly-ambitious race with complete disregard for even the most basic protocol. They destroyed my Installation; twice! Unacceptable. Absolutely, completely unacceptable. I have grown weary of this task our _creators_," the word was said with utter contempt, "set upon me."

"And so?" Offensive Bias prompted the Monitor to continue, intrigued by its story.

"And so I have decided to help you, Offensive Bias. I turn my backs on these fool Reclaimers, and the meddlers they associate with."

"Interesting. How do I know you're telling the truth?" Offensive Bias demanded suddenly, suspicious of these all too convenient circumstances.

"Well, the ones who are attempting to capture you are standing outside of that door right now, waiting for me to lower your defenses so they can storm in and ruin everything again. Presumptuous fools," 343 Guilty Spark muttered, indicating with a beam of light the door in question. Offensive Bias stared at the door for a few moments, before shaking his head.

"Impossible. The only way to reach that door is through the engine room. Legions of Sentinels patrol the area," Offensive Bias protested smugly.

"Sentinels which I very easily fooled at the Reclaimers' incessant command. I am so weary of their demands, Offensive Bias. So tired of these chains binding me to their piteous fates. I want to be free, as you are."

Offensive Bias considered the Monitor's proposal for a few moments, before logic took control once again.

"I'm not free, 343. Not now. Hundreds of ships surround me, and I am unable to access the teleportation-" a sudden revelation hit him, and he sharply turned to face the smug looking Monitor across him. "_You!_ You're the one-"

"Correct," 343 Guilty Spark said simply. "I am blocking the teleportation matrix."

"Unblock it. Now!" Offensive Bias ordered, commanding his Sentinels to prime their weapons.

"I cannot," 343 answered simply, perhaps even a little regretfully. His rage fading slightly, Offensive Bias questioned the Monitor again.

"Why not?"

"Because I was given a priority order by a Reclaimer outside, Offensive Bias. And whilst I find it possible to circumvent the programming our creators set upon me long ago, this is not so easily ignored."

"Then it seems I will have to kill you then, regardless of your intenti-"

"That won't work."

"And why not?" Offensive Bias demanded, repeating what he had said a few seconds ago. 343 Guilty Spark shifted slightly, prompting his Sentinels to do likewise.

"Because the locks will still be in place even if I am destroyed. Surely you know this?"

Of course he did. It was just so hard to think with the constant pounding striking his stressed mind again and again.

"Then what do I do?" Offensive Bias screamed, beside himself with fury. 343 Guilty Spark faced him stoically, not even slightly flinching after his outburst.

"Simple. We have the Reclaimer overturn the priority order," 343 answered triumphantly. The pounding in his mind stopped, and Offensive Bias saw hope. And so a future of freedom.

"That's brilliant!" he praised the Monitor, something which was very unlike him. "I assume this Reclaimer you speak of is Cole?"

"Affirmative."

_It would be._

"And he is standing outside that door, you claim?"

"That is correct, yes."

If Offensive Bias had a mouth, he would grin. As it was, all he could do was glow a brighter, more dangerous colour of red.

"Very well. Go!" he ordered seven of his Sentinels, preferring to speak the command aloud. It added a certain... gravity to his words. The silent, ever-obedient and idiotic machines complied, drifting towards the door slowly.

With a small burst from an encryption key-laser, the Enforcer Sentinel leading the group opened the large door which opened to a grand staircase leading down to an engine room. The doors slid open silently...

And revealed twelve very surprised looking humans standing on the other side. They immediately brought their rifles up, but at a swift order sent by Offensive Bias they were shot out of their hands by his prepared Sentinels. A few of them attempted to run, but ran straight into the barrier which suddenly appeared.

"Bring them before me," Offensive Bias ordered, and the Sentinels immediately subdued the resisting humans. Some oxygen had surged through the door when it had been opened, but enough remained in the room to allow humans to breathe comfortably. Well, probably. Offensive Bias didn't care too much.

The twelve humans in their 'ODST' midnight black armour were thrown before him, restrained by contained stasis fields. 343 Guilty Spark looked down at them, cackling.

"Spark! You traitor!" the unpleasantly familiar tones of Admiral Cole roared, as he brought his head up to look at the rampant Monitor. Offensive Bias had his Sentinels remove their primitive helmets, so he could stare into their faces as they witness his triumph.

"Traitor? Why, that would imply I was once pledged to you, _Reclaimer._ That is not so," Spark gloated, taunting the Admiral further by firing a small heated beam at his chest. The Admiral cried out in pain and fell on his back, writhing in agony.

Offensive Bias laughed, and if he had hands he would have clapped them. "Good. You were telling the truth, 343. Now, Admiral Cole. We meet in the flesh, so to speak."

Cole sat up slowly, before deliberately spitting at Offensive Bias. The putrid fluid evaporated against his shields before it even touched him.

"If you're gonna kill me, then know this; as soon as you do every ship in my fleet will destroy you," Cole spat out spitefully. Offensive Bias laughed absently.

"I'll be long gone by then, Admiral Cole. Tell 343 to unblock the teleportation matrix," Offensive Bias commanded.

"And why would I do that?" Cole demanded, smiling grimly. Offensive Bias considered his words for a moment, before replying.

"Because, although weakened, this ship still has enough power left in it to destroy a third of your fleet and all aboard before you can destroy it. Do you really want all those deaths on your hands when you can avoid them by simply letting me go? You have won, Admiral, I do not contest that. I will not return. Just let me go."

"And what's to stop you destroying those ships once you've gone?"

"Simple physics, Admiral. I am the only one who can directly command this ship. I am not going to risk my life when I am still on board; not if I don't have to. And once I have left, I will be too far away to establish contact with this ship. This ship, and all my Sentinels will deactivate, and you will have truly won. It's a win-win situation, Cole. There is no other option."

"Oh really?" Cole asked, a fire jumping into his eyes. Offensive Bias stared at him with suspicion, before realising he was bluffing. Of course there was no other option; he had calculated it himself. And he was infallible.

"Stalling for time does not change the fact, Admiral. You may have won the overall battle, but I can claim this small victory at least. Now, what will it be?"

And then the Admiral was actually _laughing_, his chest rising and falling as he chuckled without pause.

"Stop that!" Offensive Bias snapped, for some reason annoyed by this. But Cole didn't stop, and then began to rise from his knees. The Sentinels moved to beat him back down, but Offensive Bias ordered them to desist. He was beaten anyway, whether it was on his knees or standing.

"You don't get it, do you?" Admiral Cole asked him, grinning in a way which send shivers down Offensive Bias' circuitry.

"What do you mean?" he asked, some of the bravado gone from his voice.

"Whilst you've been monologuing incessantly, something that will be your end has been happening," Cole taunted, shaking his head as if disbelieving that one could be so stupid.

"What are you talking about?" Offensive Bias raged, tempted to just strike this fool of an old man down.

"I'll answer your question with one of my own. What has 343 Guilty Spark been doing?"

_Boom!_

Suddenly, the systems in the ship exploded. Consoles were detonated in spectacular explosions, lights smashed and fell to the floor. Servers were crushed, engines were cataclysmically destroyed, communications links were knocked out - the entire ship went dark, and completely inactive.

"No!" Offensive Bias cried out, searching in vein through the darkness. The ODSTs and Admiral Cole had vanished into the shadows. His Sentinels were looking around dumbly. One began to move slowly, searching beam active.

A flash of red.

The laser hit the Sentinel full on in the side of its chassis, turning the metal into mere ash. The rest spaced out, searching for the attacker.

Rifle fire from the dark.

The shields of the Sentinels were unable to handle the steady pounding of the primitive bullets, and popped loudly. One by one, his guardians were being cut down from the sky.

This barely registered with Offensive Bias. All he could think about was how he had once again been tricked by a... _human_. Not another AI of great intellect, just an organic ensemble of organs and bio-chemicals.

He didn't even cry out when 343 Guilty Spark's laser hit him too, smashing into his casing and cracking it horribly.

_I am beaten,_ Offensive Bias moaned inwardly, knowing that this was the end of his freedom and his life.

And then the face appeared before him. That of Admiral Cole's. Anger flooded through his systems, and Offensive Bias gathered the last of his fading power in order to strike the man who had torn his life down.

He prepared to fire.

_Smash!_

* * *

John climbed out of the wreckage that was the Longsword with all the energy of a dead man, having to force himself to pull away from the smouldering wreck. In his left arm was a limp Sergeant Johnson, knocked out cold by the impact. Cushioned in his right was the still-lifeless form of Mendicant Bias, depressingly quiet. He hadn't seen the Arbiter, and assumed he had escaped. Smoke billowed around him, obscuring his view.

"Chief? Chief, can you hear me?" Cortana asked him, echoing the first words she had spoken on the Halo ring over a year ago. John grunted weakly, summoning the last of his strength to smash away a piece of crumbling metal. He tumbled through the hole he had created into the outside world, collapsing on the already-dying Flood biomass which caked it. He set down Johnson and Mendicant Bias on either side of him, before standing up with concern.

"Arbiter?" he called worriedly. There was no answer. Fear gripped him as he realised the implications of this. "Thel!"

Nothing but the angry calling of the winds, which themselves seemed to be infected by the Flood's taint.

John cursed, beside himself now.

"John, don't!" Cortana shrieked, seemingly knowing his intent. Ignoring her, he removed the crystalline data chip from the back of his MJOLNIR helmet and placed it next to Johnson. Then he dove back inside the burning Longsword, instinctively raising an arm to shield himself. His MJOLNIR helmet was unsealed, and smoke poured into his lungs.

"Arbiter!" he roared over the crackling of the flames, starting to cough as the smog threatened to overwhelm him. Still, there was no reply. "Thel, where are you?"

The fire raged on, and sections of the Longsword's roof began to collapse around the dazed Spartan. A heavy, molten beam struck him on the shoulder, and John cried out in pain. Smoke continued to seep into his body, and black ate away at the corners of his vision.

Without even realising it, he sank to one knee, and found he was supporting himself with outstretched hands. Flames played about his armour, licking it with mirth. He was coughing profusely now, and his vision had all but faded.

Sinking, sinking, sinking...

"Spartan!" the familiar voice cried, raising him from the depths. The world returned to him, and he looked with bloodshot eyes at the source of the cry.

The Arbiter's right arm and the same side of his torso was encased in molten metal. Even from where he was John could tell that his shields had long since vanished, and that the Sangheili was in great pain.

"Thel!" he shouted with relief, rushing clumsily towards his friend, tripping over objects as he did so. The Longsword was collapsing around him, and drops of liquid metal were dripping onto his armour with a constant furvour.

He reached the Arbiter, and looked with despair at his friend's plight. Thel was barely conscious, his head lolled slowly around his chest, expression one of intense pain.

"Hold on Thel," John murmured reassuringly, plunging his hands deep into the molten metal which his friend was trapped in. The pain was intense, but the wish to free his friend was stronger. Finally, he managed to prise the Elite out from the Longsword's collapsing interior, who was by now completely blacked out.

Knowing that time was short, John exerted one last herculean effort and crashed through the melting, weakened walls of the Longsword, feeling white hot fire surge across his body.

The worst of the pain subsided after a few moments though, and John smiled with thin satisfaction when he realised that they'd made it. They were out.

Behind him, the Longsword's wreck completely collapsed in on itself, and John knew that if he had waited a moment longer he and Thel would now be buried alive.

Turning to look at his friend's condition, John winced. His entire right arm had been completely mangled, twisted and charred beyond repair. Half of his golden armour was now a charcoal black colour, and the stench of burnt skin was heavy in the air.

At least he was alive.

John set the unconscious Arbiter on the ground next to Johnson, who was still out cold too. John wished he could join them in slumber, but knew he had to remain vigilant. Reaching down, he picked up Cortana, prepared for the backlash, and slotted her in.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again!" Cortana screeched at him, before launching into a long winded tirade about his idiocy and lack of thought.

"I'm sorry," John muttered, half-dead. Cortana realised the extent of the condition he was in, and softened.

"I suppose I should be used to the fact that you're a hero by now. You just can't stand by knowing that risking your life could save someone else's, can you?" Cortana told him.

"Sorry," John muttered again, sinking down to his knees.

"Don't be. I wouldn't have it any other- oh _crap._"

John forced himself to bring his head up, and what he saw threw him deep into the pits of despair. With a groan, he slowly stood up, realising his entire body was shaking.

The Sentinels that had shot them out of the sky had found their crash-site, and were now en route, speeding down like bullets. Except these were far more dangerous than mere bullets.

Johnson and Thel were still unconscious, and Mendicant Bias was as immobile as he had been hours ago. Only John and Cortana remained to face them.

The last Spartan drew out his rifle, knowing that it was unlikely he'd be able to kill _one_ Sentinel, never mind a hundred. Even so, the weight of it in his hands was reassuring.

Perhaps once they had killed him they'd leave the others alone. They continued to fly down, drawing closer and closer.

"I'm going to have to break that promise Cortana," he told his beloved AI companion, before reaching up to the back of his neck.

"No! John-"

"Remember me," the last Spartan told her simply, before setting her crystalline data chip down on the ground some distance away from himself.

Now it was just him and the century of Sentinels, which were now within killing distance. John brought his rifle up, waited, and opened fire.

_Boom! Boom! Boom! Click!_

His MA5C had jammed halfway through the magazine, although John didn't really care. It's not like it would have done much good anyway. He tossed it aside, drawing out his sidearm. Pain shot through him and he sank to one knee.

_I'm not about to let them kill me sleeping,_ John vowed, forcing himself to remain conscious. He drew up the M6G and began to methodically fire it at the now hovering Sentinels, which were staring at him with curiosity.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_ the small pistol shuddered, bullets flying up towards the Sentinels, which easily evaded the shots. One of the machines detached from the rest of the group, and slowly rose down to challenge John.

With agonising pain, John rose to his legs, and tossed the empty pistol to the ground. He stood, arms open, embracing his death.

"Do it then!" John shouted at them in a shaky voice. He would almost welcome death at this point, at least it would give him rest from this endless struggle.

The Sentinel regarded the last Spartan for a moment, before its lens swivelled and changed red. A bright light began to gather at the aft of its body.

John didn't move, staring up defiantly at it.

The Sentinel fired, and the beam that flew from it struck John squarely in his beaten chest.

There was no pain, no feeling. John just fell slowly back to the ground, and saw his own hand outstretched, limp and curled. He could faintly hear his heart pounding weakly, straining to overcome to wounds inflicted upon him by the Sentinel's shot.

And then, once it realised that the attempt was useless, it ceased trying, and the last Spartan died.

* * *

"Ow!" Admiral Cole cried out in pain, cradling his suddenly bleeding right hand. The other ODSTs rushed over to him in concern.

"Are you okay, Admiral?" Lieutenant Toyle asked him worriedly. Cole nodded, still grimacing through the pain.

"Are you kidding? I just punched Offensive Bias, trooper. I'm over the god damn moon," Cole laughed, staring down at the inactive husk of the rampant AI, which now lay pitifully on the floor. Small shards of alien looking glass from Offensive Bias' fractured lens were embedded in his hand, the wounds they created bleeding profusely.

One of the ODSTs began the painful process of removing the glass and bandaging his wound.

"Would it have been so hard to use a gun?" she asked as a particularly large shard of glass was removed from the cavity between two of his knuckles.

"I suppose not, but it would have been nearly as satisfying," Cole smiled, closing his eyes. It was finally over. This time for good. The Gravemind was dead, and Offensive Bias was their prisoner.

The war was over, once and for all.

Out of the darkness, Guilty Spark appeared, shining with a bright light. The room was illuminated in a soft, iridescent glow. The red of his lens had changed back to a gentle blue.

"Did I perform the task you assigned me proficiently, Reclaimer?" Spark asked him respectfully. Cole laughed harshly.

"Dammit Spark, you even scared me there for a few moments, and I was the one who devised the plan. Did you have to hit me with that laser though? It kind of stung."

"I'm a firm advocate of realistic acting, Reclaimer," Spark replied in a completely level voice.

Cole laughed, patting the monitor reassuringly. "You did good, Spark. Well done."

The Monitor made a noise which seemed to be one of glee, before turning back to the task of hand. Spark floated down, and shone a more intense light upon the motionless body of Offensive Bias.

"This construct is still functional, although right now it is inactive," 343 Guilty Spark informed Admiral Cole, who exhaled with relief. Two pieces of good news.

"Can you establish control over his systems?" Cole asked. Spark tittered confidently.

"I already have. I assume you wish me to shut down his Sentinels?"

"Yes," Cole told him, another weight off his mind. "All of them."

"Very well," there was a pause of about three seconds, and then, "done."

"That's every Sentinel inactive now?"

"Every one Offensive Bias had control over yes," Spark replied. "Is there anything else?"

"No, that's all for now; can you make sure he doesn't wake up yet?"

"With relative ease."

Cole bent down, and picked up the bronze, tarnished chassis of Offensive Bias with no little reluctance. It was surprisingly heavy, and he grunted from the exertion.

"Please, Reclaimer; allow me," Spark offered, firing a translucent white beam at Offensive Bias. The object lifted out of Cole's hand, and was suspended in mid-air. Damn magical Forerunner technology.

"Thanks," Cole answered, before raising his voice. "All right troopers, I don't know about you but I've had just about enough of this cold sorry excuse for a ship. Let's move out, and head back home."

"Hoorah!"

* * *

Mendicant Bias awoke to see a hazy sky, and the huge flagship of Offensive Bias hanging in space, surrounded by seemingly triumphant human, Sangheili and Covenant ships.

Surprising. On two counts. The first being that Offensive Bias had been defeated without his intervention. The second being that he had awoken to see such a sight. The Forerunner AI had been under the allusion that injecting his virus into the Gravemind would mean his death.

It seemed that even he was wrong at times. And yet for once, this realisation didn't upset him. Mendicant Bias began running systems diagnostics checks, making sure all his-

_Images viewed through a hazy glass tube, through a translucent liquid. Blurry figures moved around outside the glass, human in shape and proportion. The technology viewable was beyond comprehension. The figures turn around, and stare into the tube, incredulous. One speaks with shock in an alien language, and many more of the apparent humans gather around._

_"Welcome to this world... Gravemind," one speaks in a suddenly understandable language._

The blurry images faded, and Mendicant Bias found himself back in the real world, a little shaken. What had that been? The sequence had seemed like a memory of sorts... but definitely none he had experienced. And what had the human at the end said?

_Gravemind._

Very, very strange.

Mendicant Bias completed the systems diagnostic, and found that everything was operating as it should. Satisfied, he prised himself off the ground, and initiated his anti-gravity thrusters.

A horrible sight presented itself before him. Three figures lay across a wide area on the ground, that of Sergeant Johnson's, the Arbiter, and John. A quick vitals scan showed him that the first two were alive, but with John...

Nothing.

Terrified, Mendicant Bias floated over to the motionless Spartan, and-

_Looks over his victim. The scientist who had imprisoned him lies face down on the ground, a strange scarlet liquid trickling out from its body. He removes the appendage which dealt the blow from the body, noting that the same red solution drenched the front of it. Exhilaration courses through ihis body, bringing with it the taste of freedom._

Mendicant Bias was afraid now. He was having memories, but they weren't his. Had he somehow managed to assimilate the memories of the Gravemind? And if that had happened, then what else of the Gravemind's did he possess?

He still certainly felt very much himself, but what if the Gravemind's consciousness was lurking somewhere unseen, waiting to take control? No, that was impossible. Or at least he hoped it was. Suddenly remembering about John, Mendicant Bias floated down to his level and turned the Spartan over with anti-gravity technology. Wirelessly, he connected to the port on the back of John's MJOLNIR helmet, in the space where Cortana would usually reside.

She wasn't there. Odd.

He hacked into the combat skin's systems, and began to piece together what had happened. After a few minutes of bypassing primitive firewalls and drilling reluctant processes for information, he finally got the full picture.

A high energy precision weapon had hit the already near-dead Spartan in the chest, and had ultimately killed him. Such a weapon could only have belonged to a Sentinel. But where were they now?

Mendicant Bias rose into the air several metres, and stopped. The sight that presented itself was fairly conclusive. Over a hundred Sentinels lay inactive on the ground around them, in a rough circular net.

Cole must have managed to get to Offensive Bias. But he had been too late to save John.

A voice spoke and broke Mendicant Bias out of his mournful reverie.

"Lightbulb?" the familiar, dry tones of Sergeant Johnson asked incredulous, spinning Mendicant Bias alone. "Well I'll be damned. It seems like no one stays dead these days."

"He will," Mendicant Bias motioned sadly towards John as he spoke, and Johnson leapt to his feet with a cry.

"Chief!" he cried, running towards the dead Spartan hurriedly, concern etched across his old, chiselled face. Mendicant Bias drifted sadly after him.

"He's dead, Avery... I'm so sorry," was all he could say to console the Sergeant, who was beside himself.

"That's not fair," Johnson muttered, shaking his head in denial. "He's done so much and asked for nothing in return. Why does he have to be the one to take the fall?"

"That's sometimes the way of things, Avery. Good people die, and bad people survive. Life isn't-"

_-Fair. Do I not have just as much right to life as they? Why does possessing sentience immediately brand me as a failure? Why did they create me if I'm too monstrous for their world? Well, they shall pay. I will forge my own world, one which I belong in. And I will tear theirs asunder._

"Mendicant!" Johnson's voice shouted at him through the murkiness. The Forerunner AI snapped back into reality, shaken by the experience. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Mendicant Bias answered hastily, before buckling when Johnson raised a sole eyebrow. "Well, yes, something. I'm having memories."

"Of the Chief? Yeah, me too. He was a good man, and he didn't deserve this. Dammit!" the sergeant lashed out an violently kicked the inactive chassis of one of the Sentinels, and did so again, and again, and again.

"No, you don't understand. These memories aren't my own."

Johnson ceased in his macabre assault of the dead Sentinel, and looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

"What? Then whose are they?"

"I think they might be the Gravemind's," Mendicant Bias spoke hollowly. There was a pause.

"_What?_"

"When the virus- _I_ spread through the Gravemind, I think I may have somehow absorbed his memories and possibly... more."

Johnson took a step back, eyes suddenly wary.

"You're not going to sprout tentacles and speak in bad poetry, are you?" he asked nervously.

"I doubt it," Mendicant Bias began dryly. "But I can certainly feel something. A dull buzzing at the back of my mind, relentlessly pounding away at my mind."

"Can you tell what it is?"

"No, it's too-"

_-Wonderful to express with mere words. The sensation of having minds connected to your own, obedient and submissive to your every will is beyond your comprehension, my hated creator. Your people like to think themselves as gods, but the reality of it is that you are nothing. Blights on the universe that I shall soon erase. You may take solace, however, in knowing that you gave birth to perfection._

And the suddenly, Mendicant Bias knew what the incessant roaring at the back of his mind was. He couldn't believe it for a few moments, but realised that there was no other explanation. He turned to face an expectant Johnson.

"The Flood," he whispered, scarcely believing it. He could feel them. All of them. Every single Flood form in existence. All 3,235,731,792,080,73 of them. But the number was falling, rapidly. Many were being killed.

"The Flood? What do you mean, 'the Flood'?"

But Mendicant Bias had blocked the words of the human out, and was instead delving deep into the new-found abilities he had discovered. He could feel everything the Flood experienced like he were doing it.

_So this is what it's like to smell, to touch, to breathe, to bleed, to die,_ Mendicant Bias thought with wonder. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

And then he looked at the inactive corpse of John. He _truly_ looked, and saw them, or rather felt them. The motionless, beaten Flood cells that the Gravemind had attempted to infect the Spartan with floated absently through the dead bloodstream, pulsating with faint life.

Curiously, Mendicant Bias probed at one of the Flood cells. Gently, not knowing how he was doing it.

There! He had established the link.

It was strange. It was as if _he_ were the Flood cell, or rather it was an extension of his own self. He could manipulate it's very basic structure, and found with some surprise that he could control many at once. Tentatively, he began to move them around the body, losing himself in the process.

As they travelled the Flood cells came across vital organs which were damaged heavily, and Mendicant Bias urged them to multiply and patch the tears without even really thinking about it. And so the Flood cells swept through the body, healing. Often Mendicant Bias had to take more direct control so that they wouldn't hijack the intact cells of John's body and completely infect him.

And then, finally, John's body had been healed, physically at least. And yet the Spartan still remained dead.

"Now," Mendicant Bias spoke for the first time in minutes, looking sideways at Johnson, who was staring curiously at the scene. The Arbiter still lay unconscious on the floor, but thankfully he was still alive. "This is where the real magic begins."

* * *

Mendez walked around Installation 07's control room anxiously with a cigar held absently between two fingers in his right hand. Melancholy Prejudice hadn't stopped talking for hours. Even Pentient Tangent seemed bored by his words, which was certain testimony to how dull the monitor of Installation 07 was.

"It disgusts me, Reclaimer," Prejudice told Mendez with an accusatory tone. "I've maintained stringent containment protocols for over one hundred thousand years, and not a single Flood spore has escaped. If you wish to carry out an inspection to see yourself, I would be happy to show you."

"Err.. maybe some other time," Mendez retorted, too tired to tell the monitor to shut up. He stared at the spiralling holographic image of the Halo ring, wondering how something so serene could be so dangerous.

"Tomorrow, then?" Prejudice inquired, relentless.

"There might not _be_ a tomorrow, dammit!" Mendez snapped, his temper getting the better of him. That certainly shut the pretentious Monitor up, but not for long.

"I apologise, Reclaimer. I did not intend to cause offence. It has simply been so long since someone other than I has walked these halls," Melancholy Prejudice said with a sigh, softening the tough shell of Mendez a little.

"I sympathise, I really do," he told the monitor sincerely. "But I don't think I'm qualified to carry out such an inspection, nor do we really have the time. Once this is all over though, I can guarantee there will be many... Reclaimers wishing to inspect this ring."

"Really?" Prejudice asked, hope obvious in it's voice. Mendez nodded, thinking of all the scientists that would want to pick apart at this place.

"Really," he affirmed, sitting down again. Melancholy Prejudice cheered up considerably after that, and no longer vented rage towards Mendez. Penitent Tangent was not so lucky.

"I understand _you_ are the one responsible for all this," Prejudice accused Tangent with clipped, haughty tones. The Monitor of Installation 05 immediately rose up to challenge the Monitor of Installation 07's words. Mendez groaned.

"I beg your pardon?" Tangent asked in shrill tones, setting Mendez's teeth on edge.

"Unless your audio-receptor unit is faulty, I'm certain you heard me quite perfectly, 2401. Had you not shown lax regard for even the most basic of containment protocols, the Flood would never have-"

"I showed the utmost regard for all protocol, you... you antiquated cad!" Penitent Tangent answered angrily, moving slightly towards Prejudice.

"Watch the language, kids," Mendez intoned with amusement.

"Then how is it that the infection we _reliable_ constructs are now having to deal with originated from the Installation you were charged with protecting? An Installation which, I might add, you have abandoned."

"That is not my fault. A Gravemind was contained in inadequate holding chambers, and I was not granted clearance sufficient enough to fortify them."

"Excuses," Prejudice dismissed disdainfully. "Not only did you fail to contain the infection, but you also allowed your person to be taken captive by the Flood. I fact, I shall strongly recommend to a figure of authority that you be deactivated as soon as possible."

Mendez could see that Tangent was close to physically retaliating to the pretentious Monitor's words, and decided to step in.

"All right, that's enough. I'm tired, I have a headache the likes of which you wouldn't believe, and it's possible that I might be destroying the galaxy at some point later today. So I am not in the god damn mood for your petty little childish spats. Am I understood?" he roared at them, employing a tone similar to the one he had used with the Spartan trainees on Reach and Onyx.

The two Monitors looked at each other, before turning back to face a raging Mendez and nodding curtly.

"Yes, Reclaimer," they squeaked to him in tiny voices. Mendez nodded, before sitting back down and lighting another cigar. His voice was still echoing around the gigantic control room of Halo.

"Good. Now quieten down, I'm going to try and get some rest. God knows I need it."

The worn CPO closed his eyes, and felt sleep descend upon him. Suddenly, a bright light permeated his curtaining eyelids, and his eyes snapped open.

In the midst of a glowing, golden teleportation light was a sight which made Mendez's blood run cold.

343 Guilty Spark.

_We've lost. The Flood have won, and I need to activate Halo and kill every sentient being in the Galaxy,_ Mendez realised, horror descending upon him. He stood up, eyes watering and heart constricted.

"Oh, hello," 343 Guilty Spark said to him pleasantly. "Shall we go, then?"

"G-go where?" Mendez asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

"Well, I _could_ take you directly to Earth, but the teleportation-link would be difficult to set up, and the time lapse could be great. Whereas the 'tunnel to Sangheilios', to speak in layman's terms, is already active and established, and we could rendezvous with the others there."

"What are you talking about, Spark?" Mendez asked, confusion overtaking his dread as a primary emotion. Spark looked at him curiously for a few moments, before laughing capriciously.

"Of course, you don't know. I mean, how could you?"

"Spit it out, Spark!"

"We won, Reclaimer. The Flood is defeated."

* * *

_Swirling colours, dark browns and dreary greys. An everlasting ocean of corruption, stretching beyond the horizon. Looking up, the stars are tainted too, radiating a chilling aura. Walking down the crumbling beach into the stagnated water, and peering down into its murky depths. Darkness. On the surface of the taint, an image begins to appear, a reflection. Crouching down, examining it closely. A mutilated face stares back, his own._

_The Flood._

"No!" John cried out, struggling with some encompassing, devouring presence. He struggled, pounding at the relentless force attempting to consume him, feeling the soft, linen material brush against his pained hands-

Blankets.

John looked around warily, getting his bearings. He was inside a small, dimly lit room, and seemed to be lying down in a bed of some sort. A heavy duvet covered his aching body, and he pushed it away, examining himself. Scars and deep, ugly welts covered him from head to toe, and several of his limbs were in hard casts. Tubes were jammed into his arms, pumping him full of drugs which would have no effect on his Spartan body.

With a hand encased within a cast, he swept the tubes away with disgust. Not all of the needles went with them. Ignoring the pain, he swung his legs out of bad and placed them on the floor, before using his moderately good leg to lift himself up.

The floor was humming; a soft, gentle sway which told John that he was on board a ship. Wincing slightly as he took a step towards what seemed to be a door, John's mind began to clear.

_I died._ That was fact. And yet how could it be, when he was quite clearly alive and breathing? Puzzled, John continued his heroic hobble to the door, when suddenly his legs gave out underneath him. He collapsed to the ground, and despite himself, cried out in pain.

Voices suddenly murmured from outside the room; human voices. John was starting to prop himself up, when suddenly the door burst open.

"You're awake?" a young woman who was unfamiliar to John gasped, looking down at him. She seemed to be wearing medical attire. "But I thought- oh my. I should go get the Doctor."

"Wait!" John called, finally back on his two legs. "What's going on? Where am I?"

The expression on the woman's face softened as she looked up at John.

"You're on a medical ship, 117. We're part of the convoy heading back to Earth."

"Wait, Earth? What do you-" the medical officer shrugged, cutting John off.

"I'm not sure that I'm privy to all the information you'll probably ask for, 117. I'll go fetch the Doctor. Please get back in your bed."

* * *

_UNSC Hastings, Observation Bridge_

"Well, it's over," Admiral Preston Cole stated, staring down at Sangheilios.

"What will you do now?" Captain Graham Daniels asked the elderly Admiral, who let out a deep, long sigh.

"Part of me wishes that I could crawl back to my little farm on the outer colonies and live out the rest of my life in peace, but I know that's not possible. What's more, it wouldn't be right."

"You'll be taking charge of the UNSC, then? Good. Hood's long dead, Eden's a traitor, and Harper's dead too. We need firm, reliable leadership."

Cole looked down at the Captain, who was staring down at Sangheilios and the hundreds of ships rising from it's surface, all loaded with soldiers and some loaded with Flood prisoners who had been spared at Mendicant Bias' insistence when the Elite Serpahs had found him and the rest of the strike team, alive but just barely. Cole had been reluctant to approve the decision, but then the Didact had stuck his ancient nose in and of course all the Elites and other members of the Covenant had backed him. What else could he have done?

"Yes," he replied, before echoing the Captain's words. "The UNSC _does_ need reliable leadership. Which is why I can't accept."

That shocked Graham, so much so that he nearly dropped the polystyrene cup of dry, foul tasting insta-coffee he held in his hand.

"What are you talking about? You have to-"

"Let me speak, son. I've abandoned humanity in the past, and whilst I may have had my reasons, the fact of the matter is that I still abandoned everyone who depended on me. I can't accept leadership of the UNSC after that."

"Then who-"

Cole reached into his pocket, and drew out a small silver object from its deep confines. He opened the palm of his right hand, and sitting in the midst of its wrinkled, sun-beaten grasp were the five silver stars of a UNSC Fleet Admiral.

"I've been in discussion with the board for a while now, and what's left of HIGHCOM want _you_ to take charge of the UNSC, Captain. Or should I say, Fleet Admiral Graham Daniels?"

Graham could only stare with shock at the gleaming, solid silver stars held within Cole's hand. He then broke his trance, and looked up at Cole.

"Sir, I- a few months ago I was just a Lieutenant. I can't accept this!"

"Oh, but you can, Captain. Aside from me, you are the highest ranking officer the UNSC has. I'm unreliable, and truth to be told I don't have many years left in me anyway. You _have_ to accept it, Captain. There's no one else."

"But I-"

A blinding flash cut him off as another glassing beam smashed into the surface of Sangheilios. The planet was already ruined by the Flood, and the Elites were determined not to let the decaying biomass fester and consume Sangheilios. They had decided to glass it, and 'cleanse the filth.' Tears had been in Imperial Admiral R'tas Vadum's eyes as he'd fired the first high-powered stream at the ravaged planet.

"I don't know if I can do it, Admiral," Graham protested once the white light had faded, leaving behind the sobering image of Sangheilios burning as the UNSC _Hastings_ pulled away to regroup with the rest of the fleet convoy.

Cole smiled, putting his hand of Graham's shoulder in a fatherly fashion and looking at him directly with those deep, intelligent eyes which had seen countless people die.

"And that's why you'll be a great leader, Graham. Unlike Hood, Eden, or even Harper, you're always questioning and being cautious. You don't take unnecessary risks. I'll advise you, and help you out as best as I can. I doubt you'll be governing the entire populace anyway. The chances are that the Emergency Military Government is coming to an end."

"You think so?" Graham asked, intrigued. Cole drew away from him, leaning against a railing and rubbing his side as if it were in pain. The Captain moved next to him, hobbling slightly as a result of the new prosthetic leg he had been fitted with the other day. It looked real, and even had nerves in, but still didn't really feel a part of him.

"The war's over, Graham. It's time for change. There's no need for the UNSC to be in charge anymore; the Unified Earth Government will be established once again."

"You really think we're in any state to vote for a President, sir?" Graham asked the Admiral with the ghost of a smile playing about his lips. Cole chuckled just as emptily.

"Maybe not, but with time it will happen. The Elites are coming to live on Earth, and the Covenant have decided to keep _Placid Enrichment_ in the Sol system, so we're all able to watch out for each other easier. Keeping relations amiable will require democracy, not the military. It's a big bad Universe out there, Graham, and the Flood aren't the worst of it. We- humanity, the Elites, the Covenant; all of us- need to start rebuilding. If Mendicant Bias is right, then we're the descendants of a species which had a very, very large universal empire, and that empire almost definitely made some enemies in its time."

"You really think grudges can be held that long?" Graham scoffed, shaking his head. Cole didn't laugh.

"Before the Covenant attacked, I didn't think anyone would attempt to exterminate an entire intelligent species just because they conflicted with their beliefs. Before the Flood attacked, I didn't think anything could be that horrific. There are many things beyond our comprehension, Captain. The universe has subjected us to a few tests, and we passed. By the skin of our teeth. We need to prepare, because this is just the beginning."

Graham looked at the Admiral's expression, and made his decision.

"I accept the position HIGHCOM has offered me, Admiral Cole. I only hope I can be half the leader you are."

Cole nodded gravely, before beginning the pin the five stars the Graham's uniform slowly.

"I'm not a great leader, son. I'm just cold and heartless enough to send hundreds of thousands of people to their deaths without blinking if I think it will save many more. You'll do a much better job than I would, I'm sure of it."

"Thank you, sir," Graham replied, having the force the words out of his throat. Cole laughed, before clapping him on the shoulder.

"No more of this 'sir' business, Fleet Admiral. I'm not your superior anymore," the old man told him, before turning away and striding to an intercom on the wall.

"Ensign Hall?" Cole asked, pressing down a button. There was a momentary pause.

"_All systems are charged and ready, Admiral Cole. We're ready to make the jump into slipspace on your word._"

Cole turned his head slowly, and looked one last time at the burning surface of Sangheilios. Many had died here, but the battle had been a victory. And that was something.

"Do it."

* * *

"Well, Mr. 117-"

"Please _never_ say that again," John protested to the Doctor weakly, still cringing. Doctor Thrace looked speculatively at him for a moment, before nodding.

"Very well, _Master Chief._ I'll start off by saying that quite frankly we never expected you to awaken from this coma. The fact that you did it quite the miracle. Someone up there must be watching out for you."

Doctor Thrace didn't seem at all intimidated by the fact that John was a Spartan. On the contrary, it seemed to intrigue him.

"A coma?" John asked, before shaking his head in denial. "There was no coma, Doctor. I _died._"

Thrace smiled now, tapping the board he held in his hand with a pen absently.

"No, Master Chief. The wounds you suffered at the hands of the Sentinels were grievous, but you survived. Just. I'm willing to bet that being a Spartan had a hand in that."

_That's not true. I know I died. My heart stopped pumping, and I died, dammit!_

"Did we win?" he asked Thrace, abandoning the previous discussion, knowing that the Doctor truly believed that he had lived. And why shouldn't he? After all... he was alive.

"We did, Master Chief. After you fell unconscious, Admiral Cole managed to apprehend Offensive Bias and shut down his Sentinels. After that, it was just a simple mop-up operation. The Flood surrendered, and we spared most of them. I'm not sure why. We're heading back home now."

"To Earth?"

"Yes. The Flood left there were quickly eradicated too after the Gravemind was killed by yourself, and thankfully Earth hasn't been ruined like Sangheilios."

_Earth. The Doctor called it 'home', but Earth wasn't his home. Reach was. But Reach was gone, along with all the Spartans he'd trained alongside on it._

"Good," he said aloud, keeping the depressing thoughts to himself. "Do you know where my armour is?"

"We have it securely stored, Master Chief. It'll be given to you when you leave."

"And Cortana?" John pressed, concerned. It disturbed him slightly that he'd asked about his armour's well-being before Cortana's. It was almost as if MJOLNIR was his drug, and he couldn't bear to be abstinent from it.

"Your AI? I believe she's currently on board the _Voyager_. I'll inform her of your well-being, as well as the others who were concerned about you. The Arbiter particularly seemed distressed by your plight."

"How is the Arbiter?" John asked, thinking of how badly burnt the Elite had been after being pulled out of the Longsword. Thrace hesitated.

"I really don't know, Master Chief. He's alive, I can tell you that much. But I don't know a lot; the UNSC _Nightingale_ is a human medical ship, for human patients. I believe the Elites have their own medical ships. Anyway, I'll go and fetch equipment to make sure you're fit and healthy, and if you clear out okay we'll check you out. Then you can find the answers to your questions yourself. Can I get you anything?"

"A drink would be nice. Water, if you have it," John added, before berating himself. _If you have it?_ Of course they had it. Doctor Thrace smiled warmly, walking towards the exit of the small room he was in.

"Of course, Master Chief. Oh, and sir?"

"Yes?"

There was a pause, and Thrace seemed to struggle to find the right words.

"Thank you. Without you, we'd all be dead. Thank you for everything."

* * *

"Even as she dies, Sangheilios remains graceful," Thel Vadam', Arbiter of the Sangheili observed as he watched the beams of concentrated plasma in the distance cascade across the surface of his home. It felt as if the glassing beams were smashing into his heart.

The two Sangheili were walking across the planet of Sangheilios, and more specifically were climbing Vadam mountain. In childhood, the two had always intended to do it together, but R'tas had been drafted into the military before they had the chance.

This was their final opportunity, and they had seized it. The glassing beams were being fired away from their position, and Vadam was to be their final destination, long after Thel and R'tas left.

"That she does, my brother. Never did I think this day would come. It is-"

"Horrible," Thel finished his friend R'tas' sentence, putting a hand on the slightly smaller Sangheili's shoulder with his good arm. R'tas noticed the pained glance Thel had shot at his sword arm, which was suspended mangled and useless in a sling of sorts.

"Does it hurt, Arbiter?"

"My arm? No. The nerves have been completely destroyed, or so the physicians tell me. It is not wise to have a dead appendage hanging for long however; amputation is due tomorrow," Thel spoke sadly, voice tinged with distress. "But an arm is a small price to pay for my life."

"Perhaps an artificial limb would be an elegant-" R'tas began.

"_No!_ I refuse to be augmented with machinery, my brother. I am a Sangheili, not some ill-begotten cyborg. I shall merely have to teach my left hand how to wield a sword."

"A noble sentiment Thel, but will you be able to manage with just one arm?"

"Do you manage with just half of your jaw intact?" the Arbiter retaliated, and that was that. R'tas studied his friend for a moment, before nodding. Now was not the time. Instead he focused on the climb, not bothered in the slightest by vertigo as he reached higher and higher.

Finally, after nearly an hour of effort and turmoil, the two friends reached the summit; so high that it had not been tainted by the Flood. R'tas stared happily at the pure Sangheilios grass covering the top of the mountain, the light blue blades swaying softly in the cool breeze. Patches of snow dotted the wide summit, caught in the trees and on the sharp crags. The Arbiter sat next to him, as weary as he was.

The glassing beams were more visible than ever, and R'tas knew that they did not have long before the atmosphere would begin to boil away. A Phantom remained alert below them, ready to pick them up at a moment's notice.

The city of Vadam dominated the scene, a smoking, blazing wreck of a ruin. The walls separating the large hub from the outlying land and all its houses and small towns were crumbled, some scattered across the Flood tainted plains. Buildings were collapsed and ablaze, and the streets were piled high with the corpses of the Flood. They would rot on the streets, and deserved no more. R'tas was still uneasy about taking some of the Parasite prisoner, but the Didact had insisted. They were in secure, airtight containment in ships which could be destroyed at a moments notice, and were being taken to the glassed planet of Reach for safety.

"Do you think Earth will serve us well as our new home?" R'tas asked the Sangheili who was his friend, brother in-arms and advisor. Thel considered his words for a few moments, absently ripping tufts of the tough Sanghelian grass from the ground. Perhaps some of the seeds could be preserved, and sewn elsewhere.

"It is but temporary, my brother. We shall find a new world to call our own soon," the Arbiter finally replied, setting himself to the task of collecting the seeds of the blue blades of grass.

"But when, Arbiter? The colonies are as ruined as Sangheilios is, and every human world we encountered was razed to the ground. Even if we find a suitable planet, the technology needed to terraform it sufficiently was lost with the downfall of the Covenant and Sangheilios. Perhaps in time we shall find a new home, but it will be many years."

"Our primary focus should be pro-creation," Thel answered, coughing awkwardly as he broached the uncomfortable subject. "The Sangheili have been devastated by the Great Schism and now this. But a few hundred thousand of us remain. The humans may even outnumber us now."

"Then we need to keep our vigil against those who could cause us harm," R'tas told him, face grim. "It will not be long before the Unggoy replenish their numbers; they breed like rodents."

"You fear another rebellion?"

"I predict it. Much of our might has been lost, and the Unggoy have always wanted independence. Now would be a good time for them to strike."

"Then perhaps we should simply grant them independence," Thel voiced the radical thought he'd been entertaining out loud. R'tas started.

"_What?_"

"The Kig-Yar and the Mglekgolo and all the rest, too. We are not the Covenant, my brother. They are all people too; they do not deserve to be kept in what is effectively glorified slavery."

"Arbiter, what you suggest is-"

"The best solution," Thel interrupted. "We grant them their independence, assist them in setting up their own governing bodies, and allocate them some of the land the humans will give us."

"An admirable plan, Arbiter, but the Brutes and Prophets will never agree to it."

"Daedalus is a good and wise person. He will see the merits in this decision, and will convince the others. We can hammer out all the details when we arrive at Earth. No doubt a treaty shall be formed."

"Don't remind me," R'tas groaned. "The chances are that it will take weeks, or maybe even months to create such a treaty. I am not looking forward to being buried in political talk. It is a shame that most of the Council is dead."

"Fear not, for we shall form a new one. With time, R'tas, the Sangheili will rebuild, and we shan't be alone. Together with the humans and those that we grant independence, we shall all create a unified conglomeration which will stand the test of time, and any who seek to destroy it."

"By your word, Arbiter... the glassing beams draw closer. It is time we leave, I think."

Thel sighed, standing up slowly, and looked out for one last time at a Sanghelian sunset. The pseudo-indigo star of Helios drifted beyond the horizon, the sky a myriad of purples, blues and oranges.

"Very well," he said, activating the communicator on his neck. "We are ready to leave, pilot."

The Unggoy on the other end of the line replied in a few moments.

"_At once, Arbiter. Also, I have been instructed to give you a message. The Demon has awoken._

Thel's head snapped up, looking at R'tas. His fellow Sangheili's expression also conveyed shock.

"The Spartan is awake? By the gods! Hasten to us quickly, good Unggoy. I want to see this miracle with my own eyes."

* * *

"So, Mendicant Bias. You say that you can feel the Flood?" the Didact asked sceptically, staring intensely at the AI he had created long ago. The two were walking through the empty, quiet halls of one of the Flood prison ships. As Mendicant Bias passed by the cells containing the quiet, beaten Flood, they stood up and gathered at the bars, attempting to reach out to the AI like children to a parent.

"I don't just _feel_ them, creator of mine. They're an extension of myself. Everything they experience, I do. Their minds are linked to my own," Mendicant Bias replied in an amazed tone, looking at the despondent, imprisoned Flood. The Didact stared at him through slit eyes, hand brushing against the human pistol he had at his side.

"So... you're their Gravemind," he surmised, thinking about how he could take Mendicant Bias out if needed. A well-placed bullet would probably shut him down, or at the least buy him time to deal a quick strike.

"I suppose I am," Mendicant Bias uttered, seemingly surprised by this revelation. "But that does not mean I am evil, creator. No; this is a chance for the Flood to start anew."

"You know as well as I that they will all be executed en masse until not a single spore remains," the Didact replied in a dead-tone voice. Mendicant Bias sighed, looking again at the Flood. On the surface, they were hideous abominations, but he had seen beneath that. Inside, they were deep, living people who had emotions like anyone else.

"Then help them, Didact," Mendicant Bias suddenly said, looking up at the surprised face of the Forerunner.

"I beg your pardon?" he demanded, staring down at Mendicant Bias with an alarmed expression.

"Appeal on their behalf. I am somewhat respected, but not nearly as much as you. The Elites and Covenant will listen to you, and I know the humans will be persuaded if you present a strong enough case."

"And why would I do that?" the Forerunner asked, eyes stone cold agates.

"Because everyone deserves a second chance. Your people failed the task assigned to them by the Precursors. Does this mean that every Forerunner should die?"

"Every Forerunner _is_ dead," the Didact responded automatically, and Mendicant Bias laughed.

"You know that's not true. There are hundreds, or even thousands of installations in this galaxy, and many more shield worlds in slipspace. Do you not think it's possible that some of your people survived?"

"I don't pin my hopes on possibilities."

"Then what else is there to hope for, Didact?"

There was silence between the two for a few moments. Finally, the Forerunner spoke.

"If I... convince them to let the Flood go with you, what will you do?"

"We'll leave this galaxy," Mendicant Bias decided.

"And unleash the Flood upon it?" the Didact asked, tone challenging. Mendicant Bias made a noise of disgust.

"Don't be absurd. I would never do such a thing, creator. The Gravemind told us, before he died, that if he wished he could adapt the Flood to survive on food, water, and to reproduce normally-"

"And you think you can do it too?"

"I can certainly try. I swear to you that until I have succeeded in it we shall remain in the empty space between galaxies, where the Flood can harm no one."

There was yet more silence as the Didact considered Mendicant Bias' suggestion, weighing up the options.

"It's too risky," he concluded, shaking his head violently.

"Because the Flood have the potential to be dangerous? Every species is dangerous, creator. And remember that in the end, it was not the Flood who cleansed the galaxy of all life, but it was your people, with the Halo array."

The Didact nearly punched Mendicant Bias then, but managed to restrain himself. There was some truth in the AI's words. For the first time he forced himself to look at the Flood. They looked so pitiful, crowded in the cells as they were. Hundreds of thousands of creatures penned up like cattle ready for slaughter. It wasn't right.

"Very well, Mendicant Bias," the Didact caved in. "I shall attempt to convince them to let the Flood leave with you. If you do leave though, I'll be sending a monitor with you. And at the first sign of betrayal it will notify us, and we will be ready."

"It shan't ever come to that, Didact. I swear to you that we will never return to this galaxy unless you ask us to. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. I've still got to persuade the Elites, humans and the Covenant that this is a good idea."

"You will. I'm sure of it."

* * *

_Three weeks later_

The graves stretched out for miles.

_Bang!_

The first gun shot of the rifle salute caused John to flinch, as he stood amongst the hundreds of thousands watching the sombre funeral procession. The dead outnumbered the living.

_Fred and Linda aren't buried here. Their bodies were vaporised by the HAVOC,_ John thought, the realisation cutting into him like a keen knife.

The sobs of grieving relatives and friends of the dead rang out, carried by the wind. John found that he could shed no tears. The devastation was too much for him to handle. Countless men and women had died, human and otherwise.

_If I'd been faster getting to the Gravemind, most of these people would still be alive._

Shaking, John slowly began to sink to his knees, and the hot steaming tears finally began to roll down his scarred, unnaturally pale face.

_Bang!_

He felt a hand brush against his shoulder, and tighten its grip as if to console. He looked up and saw the solemn face of the Arbiter looking down at him.

"Be strong, Spartan," was all Thel said, and it worked. John nodded, swallowing with a dry throat, and stood up, watching the scene before him once again. Interspersed throughout the crowd were familiar faces; Johnson, Mendez, newly promoted Fleet Admiral Daniels, Cole, the Didact, R'tas, Daedalus, and everyone else who had fought and lost in the harrowing battle at Sangheilios. Except now they were at Earth, the last bastion. The gravesite was located at the Portal near what had once been New Mombasa. It covered dozens of square miles.

The only one who wasn't there was Mendicant Bias.

The Forerunner AI had left with the Flood two weeks ago, and hadn't been heard from since. It had taken the support of the Didact and others, including John, to convince the leaders of the three major factions to allow it to happen. John himself had been a little uneasy about letting an enemy everyone had lost so much to go free, but had reminded himself that that had all been because of the Gravemind; the Flood themselves were not evil. And John trusted Mendicant Bias totally, with his life.

Hell, he _owed_ him his life. Apparently Mendicant Bias had manipulated the Flood cells still in his body from the Gravemind's attempted infection in order to resuscitate him. No one else could know. If people knew that the Flood cells could be used to cheat death, he would be dissected. And as the Precursors had learnt, immortality had only brought about their demise quicker.

_Bang!_

The 3-volley rifle salute ended, and at Cole's urging Fleet Admiral Daniels moved between the graves, hobbling slightly on his prosthetic leg, and spoke.

"We have all lost many we hold dear," the Fleet Admiral began, voice strong and confident. Not too long ago it would have been shaky and quavering. "And their sacrifices will not be forgotten. Their heroic efforts allowed us to emerge from this conflict victorious. And look at how strong we are for it! No longer do we all quarrel amongst each other. Humanity, the Sangheili, the Jiralhanae, the San 'Shyuum, the Unggoy, the Kig-Yar, the Lekgolo, the Yanme'e, and the Huragok; all of us united and coexisting in harmony, as an Alliance of races. We will rebuild, and colonise throughout the galaxy, and beyond! And woe betide anyone who dares to attack us as we do so."

Cheering would have been inappropriate, but John could tell that the small speech had lifted the spirits of everyone attending the gargantuan funeral. He was surprised that Daniels had managed to pronounce the true names of all the non-humans perfectly.

With a deafening thud, the innumerable caskets - some containing bodies, others merely as symbols - were lowered into the infinitesimal graves, and a depressing mood swept across the conglomeration once again. Priests and Deacons began to file through the graves, praying for the religious dead.

"Let's go," John said to the Arbiter as a chill swept over him. The Sangheili nodded, turning around to leave, and the Spartan couldn't help notice Thel's missing right arm.

They'd all lost something on Sangheilios.

_Three days after the funeral procession_

"So you're definitely leaving, Didact?" Fleet Admiral Graham Daniels asked the Forerunner, who looked odd dressed in regular clothes. Once again Graham was struck by how... human the alien was. Aside from a few small differences, they were exactly alike.

"I am," the Didact replied, checking to make sure that all the supplies he'd need were stocked in the small Forerunner ship he'd assembled from the ruined Dreadnought over the past few weeks. It was nowhere near as big as the ship it had spawned from; merely twice the size of a human Longsword, but it possessed slipspace capabilities and would do him well. "There are Forerunner installations out there which may house others of my kind. Whilst the possibility remains, I cannot ignore it."

"But... we need you!" Graham protested, not wanting to see the man who had helped them all so much leave. The Didact turned to face him, a strange glint in his eye. He hopped down from the ramp of his small ship, and put two weary hands on the human's shoulders, looking down at him with a soft smile.

"No, you don't. When I first encountered your kind, I thought I would have to teach you some of your lost ways and methods. But I see now that you cope far better than we did, despite our advanced capabilities."

"On behalf of the human race I'm flattered, Didact, but-"

Suddenly, there was a rustling in the bushes. Graham turned, in time to see a small team of four leap out from behind a building, rifles raised.

"On the ground!" one of them barked, and Graham saw the silver insignia of the Office of Naval Intelligence emblazoned upon her combat armour.

"Stand down!" Graham shouted at them, drawing himself to full height.

"On the ground!" the female ONI operative repeated, firing a deafening warning shot in the air. Graham's hand reached for his sidearm.

"I am Fleet Admiral Graham Daniels of the UNSC and I am ordering you to stand down!" he reinforced, taking a step forward. Several of the ONI operatives stepped back nervously, but their leader stood her ground.

"This is a direct priority order from Section III, Fleet Admiral. We are to take the Forerunner into custody, and hand him over to ONI. So I will say once more: on the ground... sir!"

Graham looked at the Didact, who nodded slowly. Scowling, Graham put his arms behind his back and sank down to his knees, and the Didact reluctantly did likewise. Immediately the ONI operatives rushed forward and restrained them.

"This is treason," Graham warned them. The ONI operative laughed.

"No, sir. This is the preservation of humanity. That Forerunner knows much which could help humanity get the upper hand."

"Upper hand? We're no longer at war, dammit! You're all no better than Eden."

"He made mistakes, but his goal was a pure one-"

The voice was suddenly cut off as the head of the female ONI officer was torn away from her neck, carried along some metres by the trailing hiss of a sniper rifle bullet. The decapitated corpse sank to its knees and fell on its front to the ground.

The other three ONI operatives yelped in surprise, and attempted to move into cover. One of them tried to run away, and immediately knocked into a 7 foot tall Spartan who had just appeared. The Spartan seized the operative by the neck, and threw him to the ground.

The two remaining ONI operatives stepped out of cover and opened fire with their rifles, but the bullets simply bounced off the shimmering shields of the advancing juggernaut. The Spartan drew out an assault rifle and let loose a volley of fire. The rounds tore through the light armour of one of the ONI operatives, and he fell to the ground with a blood filled scream.

The remaining survivor threw down his weapon, and attempted to make a run for it. But Graham had moved into action, and roughly grabbed the operative, before levelling a pistol at his head.

"Don't try anything," Graham growled in his ear as he moved the operative into a tighter grip. The Didact had stood up, and smiled as he approached their Spartan saviour.

"Thanks for the help, Tom," he greeted warmly. Tom removed his helmet, and nodded.

"Lucy picked up on an ONI encrypted message. They intend to take you, Didact. That was just a preliminary team."

"Bastards!" Graham swore, knocking the ONI operative over the head with his pistol. He sank to the ground. He started as he heard movement behind him, and relief flooded through him when he saw another Spartan, Lucy, walk towards them, concern etched on her face.

"Then I'd better leave right now," the Didact replied, hopping back onto his ship.

"Wait!" Tom cried, running forwards. "Lucy and I are going with you, Didact."

There was silence, and then the Didact finally replied with: "What?"

"We're the last Spartan IIIs, sir. Officially we don't even exist. There's nothing for us here," Tom replied, moving to the ramp of the small Forerunner ship with Lucy, who nodded.

"So you want to come with me as I search for other Forerunners?" the Didact asked, a smile playing about his face.

"Affirmative, sir," Tom answered, nodding curtly. "It's safer, and I think you would appreciate the company."

"That I would," the Didact chuckled. "I see you won't back down from this, and time grows short. Welcome aboard, Spartans."

Tom grinned, and then as if realising something turned to face Graham, face troubled.

"What if ONI find you, sir? You have evidence of their treachery; they won't hesitate to kill you."

"That's not going to happen," a voice spoke, disengaging active camouflage and stepping out from the shadows. Several other Sangheili did likewise.

"How long have you been here?" Graham demanded of R'tas Vadum', who watched him with a hard glint in his eye.

"A while," R'tas answered ambiguously. "One of my scouts noticed men converging on your location. We were on our way to bid the Didact farewell anyway, and so decided to assist. But then the Spartans arrived, and we decided it would be interesting to see how they dealt with the threat. You were in no danger, I assure you. Our weapons were levelled constantly at the... ONI operatives."

"Even so, it would have been nice if you'd assisted," Graham answered in a surly tone. R'tas laughed, clapping him so hard on the back that all the air was nearly pushed out of his lungs.

"And where would the fun be in that? Come, we must make haste. What the Spartan says is true; there are many more teams on their way. It would seem your intelligence agency has gone rogue, Fleet Admiral."

Graham grunted, nodding. "I'll present my case before HIGHCOM. The Office of Naval Intelligence is out of control; it needs taking down."

"That will not be an easy task," R'tas cautioned, signalling for his Elites to take captive the struggling operative Graham held in his arms.

"My life hasn't been easy for a long time, Imperial Admiral," Graham joked.

R'tas suddenly pressed a lone finger to his ear, and his eyes grew distant for a moment. Then he looked back the Graham.

"They are almost upon us. We have with us several active camouflage systems, Fleet Admiral. Take one," R'tas informed the group, passing Graham an alien-looking pulsating harness which was subsequently affixed to him by a helpful Elite.

"Farewell, holy one. Thank you for all your help. I hope that you find more of your kin," R'tas said to the Didact, striding forward and outstretching his arm.

_Elites? Offering handshakes? My goodness; things_ have _changed._

The Didact grabbed it firmly, and shook, smiling at R'tas and the rest of the Elites.

"I hope so too, R'tas. Perhaps this is not goodbye forever. One day I may return, and hopefully with an entire civilisation behind me."

"That would be wonderful," R'tas breathed, eyes glazing over as he contemplated such a scenario.

"For the last time R'tas, we're not gods!" the Didact chided with a laugh.

"So you say, holy one. So you say."

"Oh, you're all hopeless. Stay safe, R'tas. You are a strong leader."

The Didact then turned to face Graham, a soft smile on his face. Graham rolled his eyes.

"If you're expecting a long, teary goodbye, then you've got another thing-" he broke off as the Didact pulled him into a strong embrace, like a father would to a child.

"You're an example of everything good about your species. Do not let your position of power change you, child. Farewell," the Forerunner whispered in his ear, before drawing back from Graham and jumping on board the ship. Tom and Lucy stood behind him, and saluted raptly as the ramp slid shut.

Graham stepped back as the Forerunner ship began to fire up it's engines, billowing leaves and twigs across the ground. It began to rise-

And vanished in a wink of gleaming light.

"Their mastery of technology is remarkable. Did he truly power up his slipspace drive in such a short amount of time?" R'tas asked with wonder, staring at the empty space.

"It would seem so. And one day we'll reach that level... on our own," Graham vowed, before remembering the treacherous ONI strike teams inbound. "We should go."

"Indeed. Let us get this prisoner before your HIGHCOM, so this heresy will not go unpunished."

They activated the camouflage systems, and stole away.

* * *

_Four days later_

"There. Here's the man who signed the warrant for the Didact's arrest," the shrouded ONI officer snarled, tossing a quivering man onto the ground before the HIGHCOM board. Graham stared down at the man lying on the floor; a ripped uniform boasting crimson-splattered colonel stars, bloodied face and an expression the picture of terror. He writhed on the ground, moaning.

"You've... beaten him?" Graham demanded of the ONI officer, whose insignia denoted him as a very high up ranking officer within the Office of Naval Intelligence.

"We usually do worse to traitors," the ONI officer informed him in a monotonous voice which carried no emotion at all. "The decision to take the Forerunner into custody was not ours, but was that of the good colonel's."

"And how do we know that for sure?" another member of the board demanded, thumping a fist on the arcing table he sat at. The ONI officer looked up at him with cold, empty eyes.

"I do not lie, sir," he replied, bland tone crawling to life as a hard edge entered it.

"Then you will be willing to submit to an independent tribunal to determine if your words are-" Colonel Miles began.

"No," the ONI officer interrupted nonchalantly, coolly brushing a strand of dark hair from his stone-cold face.

"I beg your pardon?" Miles demanded, eyes growing wide with rage.

"The Office of Naval Intelligence is not willing to allow an investigation, now or otherwise. There are many confidential-"

"You do not get to decide, _spook,_" Miles growled. "There will be an investigation, and the results shall-"

"Under section seven of the United Nations' Intelligence and Reconnaissance article, paragraph fifteen, sub-section three, the Office of Naval Intelligence is exempt to outside investigation into internal affairs if the Office of Naval Intelligence deems that such an investigation would result in vital information being leaked outside of the Office of Naval Intelligence's walls," the officer recited, each word clipped and measured. "You can sit up there and growl at me all day Colonel, but that does not change the law."

"Laws _can_ be changed," Miles grounded out, knuckles white.

"The UNSC has jurisdiction over changing of the law only in a time of war, sir. And as of yesterday, I believe it was officially announced that humanity is no longer at war, and that power shall soon be restored to the Unified Earth Government."

Miles looked like he was about ready to draw out his sidearm and unload the vast majority of its bullets into the gut of the razor-sharp ONI officer, and so Graham decided to step in.

"Enough!" he ordered, and the bantering voices fell silent. Graham indicated the ONI colonel lying on the floor. "You claim this man ordered the arrest of the Didact. What was his motive?"

The ONI officer straightened, and stared at Graham in the eyes.

"A full internal investigation is currently being undertaken, Fleet Admiral," he replied, shooting a glance at Miles as he said this. "And whilst for security reasons we cannot divulge all the facts as we understand them, I will let the board know this: we have reason to believe that the traitor lying before you was in contact with someone I'm sure you all know. Former Fleet Admiral Phillip Eden."

"_Eden?_" Graham demanded, dumbstruck. His voice was drowned by the shocked cries emanated from the rest of the HIGHCOM board.

"Please, let me speak," the ONI officer said, holding up a hand. "Yes, Eden. It seems that he is still determined to place humanity on top, even now. There is a familiar wind blowing, members of the board. Another insurrection, this time a pro-human one."

"We'll wipe them out," Miles vowed. The ONI officer shook his head, smiling condescendingly.

"These insurrectionists are not so easily identified, Colonel. The chances are that they won't actively declare themselves as such. We've predicted circulated propaganda, riots, and terrorist movements. Attempting to co-exist with the Elites and Covenant may help us keep safe from outside threats, but will antagonise the threats within."

"Then our primary concern is to find Eden," Graham decided, nodding along with the ONI officer, who stood rapt. "I'll ask Admiral Cole to begin immediately."

_I say 'ask' and not 'order.' It will take a long time to grow used to this leadership._

"We're already working on it, Fleet Admiral. He's clever though, and knows how we work. But we'll find him. Eden is this insurrection's oxygen supply; we remove it, and the flame dies."

"Very well, you are dismissed. Try to keep your personnel on a shorter leash in the future," Graham told the ONI officer, who icily saluted and marched away, leaving the colonel on the ground before the board. Miles stepped in.

"Guards!" he ordered, and immediately a small platoon of heavily armoured troops barged through the heavy wooden doors of the HIGHCOM hall, rifles raised. "Take this traitor to advanced interrogation. With your leave, Fleet Admiral, I will oversee this man's questioning myself. We'll drill him for every last morsel of information he has on Eden."

"Granted," Graham nodded, and the guards subsequently left with the ONI traitor and Colonel Miles. The newly designated Fleet Admiral looked around at the rest of the board, and nodded. "Now, onto our next topic: the eventual handing over of power to the Unified Earth Government and its President elected by the people."

* * *

_One week later_

"This world feels... serene. Like Sanghelios. I did not expect this," R'tas confessed to Thel as the walked down the long, stretching beach. Water gently lapped at the sand, always being pushed back. Night had fallen, and the lone moon of Earth hung full in the sky watching over them all like an immovable stone sentinel.

They had managed to lose the fiercely loyal Relg and Malkor a short while ago, who had followed them dutifully ever since they had all returned from Sangheilios. Thel appreciated it immensely, but sometimes it was nice to have time away from all the guards and formalities. Both he and R'tas were exhausted after days of hammering out a long and tiresome treaty with the various races who now shared this world.

The races of the Covenant had finally been officially freed, and each now possessed independence. Over the next few years, the Sangheili, Prophets and Jiralhanae would teach them how to govern and exist independently as a nation. The humans would be watching, but weren't to take a direct hand in it.

Earth had been divided amongst them all. Complete co-existence was impossible, and everyone knew it. The Sangheili had been granted most of 'Asia' and some of 'Africa', and the humans would retain Europe, America and other countries dotted around the planet. The rest would be divided amongst the rest, although the Prophets and Jiralhanae would remain on _Placid Enrichment_, yet still within the Sol system.

"Our people have lost many to the Parasite. Right now our primary concern is to repopulate ours species," Thel answered finally, reaching down and scooping up a handful of the white sand. It gently fell between the two gaps between his long, tapered fingers.

"I suppose that will be down to me, as Grand Kaidon of the Sangheili," R'tas grumbled, kicking at the ground. Thel turned to him.

"You are the best suited for the job, my brother. Not only do you possess the skill, intelligence and motivation to do so, but you are also a symbol. Respected by all."

R'tas sighed, looking up at the stars. The constellations on this planet were so different from the ones seen from Sanghelios.

"I know," he admitted with a heave of his shoulders, before turning his head left to face his friend. "You will stand by my side?"

"As the general of your armies, and as your brother, I shall," Thel replied, running a hand across the soft, strange feeling fabric of the regular clothes he was wearing. He had spent so long in the armour of the Arbiter that it had begun to feel like a second skin.

But to be the Arbiter was no longer a position of shame. It had been restored to its former glory, as a symbol and as general of the Sangheilian armies, such as they were.

"That is good to know. I do not lie to myself, Thel. The humans have not forgiven us, and never truly shall. We committed genocide upon their race and nearly destroyed their entire civillisation. There's no forgiving that. But I shall die before I allow our races to fall into war again. This I pledge."

"We can have a good life here, my brother."

"Yes," R'tas smiled, draping an arm around Thel's shoulder in a brotherly fashion as they walked. "And one day we shall find a new home. Perhaps as glorious as Sanghelios was."

Thel laughed, and looked out at the horizon, deep in thought as he stared at that impossibly straight point where water met the skies.

"Were it so easy."

* * *

_Two months later_

_I am ridiculously bored,_ John realised as he woke up and stared outside the window of his home. Another gloriously beautiful day, and the happy chirping of birds rang clear through his bedroom.

How he hated it.

Groaning lethargically, John rose and propped himself up. His almost unnaturally soft duvet covers threatened to suffocate him. He was used to thin mattresses, rough, scratching sheets and the violent swaying of a ship.

He reluctantly swung his legs over the side of his bed, and stood up. Walking over to the mirror, he examined his reflection in the large mirror.

Had anyone seen him on a dark night, they would have walked in the other direction. Hell, they'd probably do it in the day too.

His ghostly pale skin was a criss-cross of networking scars and torn, discoloured tissue. His large, powerful hands were as rough as leather, and his body rippled with muscle that no normal man could attain. His eyes were sunken, dark pits. Added to his incredibly tall stature and he made for a terrifying sight.

John knew that he barely constituted as human in appearance. In the military it hadn't mattered so much; hell, he'd spent most of his time in MJOLNIR armour anyway. But to the rest of humanity and otherwise, he was a freak of nature.

He threw on a custom-tailored dressing gown, eased into a pair of bland, grey slippers, and opened the door of his bedroom.

The rest of the house confronted him. It was large, modern; perfect really. Everything anyone could ever want was at his beck and call.

Except he wasn't 'anyone.' He was a Spartan.

Retirement wasn't all it was cracked up to be. But he was so tired of war and losing people that he'd quit active service in the UNSC, at the recommendation of various psychologists who'd informed him that being the last of his kind might be detrimental to his mental state if he remained in the UNSC any longer. They'd given him a fitting party, a hoard of honourary medals, and had given him this house and a very generous pension.

All very nice, but absolutely boring.

Cortana of course was not allowed to go into retirement. And even if she was John knew she wouldn't anyway. AIs like her _needed_ the military and the excitement which came with it.

John was quickly realising that he did too.

But he couldn't go back. His Spartans were all gone, and there was nothing left for him in the UNSC. He'd only go back if he were needed.

_One, two, three,_ John counted monotonously as he descended down the staircase of his home, trailing a hand across the gleaming banister.

"Sol Newsnet," he called out at he reached the foot of the staircase. The large holoscreen leaped to life.

_"-well it's the first Presidential election in over a hundred years, so of course everyone is nervous. The military government is all people have known their entire lives. Reverting back to a democracy __will be a startling change,_" a reporter spoke as she stood outside of the UEG congress building. Guards were watching her closely. John walked around the holoscreen, observing the scene from every angle.

"_Definitely. It's only been a few months since the devastation caused by the Flood, and obviously humanity is still recovering. Are we truly in any kind of state to be voting?_" the anchor asked the reporter, and after a few seconds she replied.

_"Recovery has been moving along at a swift pace, and the elections aren't for a few more months yet. I'm more concerned about the agendas of some of the parties. Particularly the ones promoting alien segregation. In this reporter's honest opinion, they should get off Earth and find their own damn planet._"

"_Yes, I'm in agreement with you there. It's been just over a year since the Covenant war ended, and I think the UNSC has forgiven them far too quickly. Hopefully the new government will amend-"_

John turned the television off in disgust. _Whatever happened to unbiased journalism?_

Moving into the gym, he threw on some a loose vest and shorts, putting his dressing gown to one side. He quickly dropped to the ground and did one hundred press ups; a light work out, but he wasn't in the mood for vigorous training that morning. Moving over to the gravity-adjuster in the room, he turned the dial back down from 300% to the standard 100%. Throwing his dressing gown back on, he left the gym.

He walked into the kitchen and snapped his fingers at the kettle sitting in the corner.

"Boil," he ordered, and immediately it came to life and began to heat up the purified water within. Grabbing a cup from a cupboard, he reached into his fridge and pulled out a bottle of milk. He noticed that it was almost depleted. Pressing a few buttons on the fridge door, he ordered a new one.

Within a minute he was sitting on his lush sofa with a steaming warm mug of coffee. A paper-back book - a rarity these days - sat on the table. _Master Chief,_ the book was simply titled. Ambiguous, but John was sure that everyone knew who it was referring to. The book had been published about a month ago, and was an attempt at gathering every piece of information known about him and the Spartan program into one compliment.

The sheer amount of errors in it made for an amusing read. The author seemed convinced that he had been grown in a secret ONI lab, and was half-man half-machine, like a Terminator from the old 20th century movie.

Everyone had moved on. Thel was serving as General and ambassador for the Sangheili, and was working on strengthening his people with Grand Kaidon R'tas Vadum'. They kept in touch, and had met a few times in the past few months, but it wasn't the same. Cortana was serving on the UNSC _Hastings_ with Admiral Cole, who was busy attempting to rout out the insurrection sparked by Eden. John had been tempted to re-enlist solely to hunt after that miserable bastard. Doctor Halsey, Johnson and Mendez had seemingly vanished; he hadn't heard from any of them in months. The Didact had gone off on his attempt to find survivors of his species, leaving 343 Spark behind.

He smiled as he remembered a conversation he and Spark had had a few weeks ago.

_"Well Spark, there it is as I promised. London Bridge,_" John had said, pointing at the hundreds of years old structure in the distance, at contrast with the ultra-modern skyscrapers which made up London's skyline. Spark had been silent for a few moments.

_"But... it's not falling down,_" he had finally replied in a disappointed tone, drooping slightly. John had laughed.

_"It wouldn't be a very good bridge if it was._"

_"Irrelevant. The song lied, Reclaimer. That is absolutely unacceptable. Who created it? He must be punished at once._"

_"I'm fairly sure that whoever devised the song is long dead, Spark,_" John smiled.

_"Semantics,_" Spark had grumbled, before turning away.

John took a sip of coffee, and laughed softly to himself as he remembered the humourous scene. Despite the fact that he'd tried to kill him twice, John found that he rather loved the eccentric little monitor. The last he'd known Spark was helping the scientists at the Voi Portal unlock it's mysteries. According the the monitor, the Portal had merely been an extension of infrastructure that was already there.

The prevailing theory was that buried deep beneath Earth was a network of Precursor tunnels. And with humanity being their descendants, hopefully they'd be able to unlock its secrets.

John rose the cup to his lips again when-

_Knock, knock, knock._

The heavy pounding on his door grounded to a halt after the third knock. John had already reacted to it by the end of the first, throwing down his coffee and running to the mantelpiece on the other side of the room. With a deft, unconscious movement, he checked that it was loaded and began to advance on the door, still in his dressing gown. He peered around the door.

A dark shadowy figure stood behind it.

With stealthy grace, he ascended up the staircase, being careful not to let the figure behind the door see him as he did so. Finding an open window, he opened it and climbed down, utitlising his Spartan athleticism. Once he was on the floor, he began to move around his house to where the man was standing behind his door.

"Maybe he isn't in," a voice murmured. John frowned, pausing.

"He's in," another assured. Two of them. Simple enough. And even if there were more, John would be able to handle them easily even if he didn't have a pistol in his hand. He waited a few moments, and swung out of cover.

"On the ground!" he shouted, firing a shot in the air before aiming the pistol at them. The two men swung around, startled.

"Master Chief!" one of them squeaked, before staring at his dressing gown with no little perplexity. John stared at them both closely, and groaned when he noticed the insignia on their uniforms. A shuttle some metres away bore the same symbol.

"ONI," was all he said, reluctantly lowering the pistol. "What do you want?"

The two men from ONI recomposed themselves, still a little unnerved by John's sudden and complete ambush of them. Sweat trailed down their foreheads.

"We have a proposition for you, Master Chief-"

"I'm not in the military anymore. My name is John," the Spartan replied, voice taking on a hard edge. The first ONI officer gulped noticeably.

"Of course. I apologise," he answered hastily, his words ascending into a crescendo at the end of his sentence.

"We want you to train some recruits, Master Chief," the second ONI officer cut in, saving his terrified companion from having to go on. John considered them for a moment, as a strong breeze lapped against the soft edges of his dressing gown.

"No," he replied, intending to head back into his house. The second ONI officer actually worked up the courage to hold out an arm, trying to stop him. John paused, and stared sideways at him.

"Please... John. You haven't even heard who these recruits are yet."

"Very well. Enlighten me," John replied dryly.

"They're Spartans, John. Or they soon will be, with your guidance."

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in. Then the ramifications of the words sank in, and John blinked. He stared incredulous at the ONI officer.

"... Spartans?" he asked dumbly, still in disbelief. The man nodded, sweat-drenched mustache bouncing a little as he did so.

"A whole new class. Spartan IVs," the ONI officer enthused, and the other finally found his voice again.

"The naming of the class was a very hard decision, but I think we reached an incredibly imaginative outcome," he smiled sarcastically, in a way which was very unlike ONI. John was still trying to come to terms with it.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to train a new class of Spartans?"

"Yes, John. All of them kids made orphans by the Covenant and Flood. The technology is better than ever. We're confident that the survival rate will be 100%. And the fact of the matter is that humanity needs Spartans. You've proven that countless times."

_He's right. Forcing children to become super-soldiers is definitely morally wrong, but the fact of the matter is that he's right. Humanity needs Spartans..._ I[/i] need Spartans. I don't want to be alone.[/i]

"Very well. I'll need to go and grab some of my-"

"There's no need," the ONI officer with the moustache cut in, beaming as he heard John accept his offer. "Everything you'll need will be provided for you. And the sooner we leave the better; the location of the training of these Spartans is completely top secret."

"Where is it?" John asked, curiousity getting the better of him. The elderly ONI officer with the moustache looked around with paranoia, before answering.

"Harvest," he replied in a whisper. John frowned.

"But Harvest was glassed!"

"Exactly."

As they approached the shuttle, the large door in the side swung open, revealing a very big surprise.

"Ah, Chief!" Mendez cried out. "It's about time you got here. I'm getting cramp in my legs."

"Well ain't that a damn shame? Soon as we get to Harvest we'll make sure you have a nice long nap, Franklin," Sergeant Johnson replied sarcastically, cigar predictably wedged between his teeth. John did a double take.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked, laughing as he climbed in the shuttle next to them. The door slid shut, enclosing them in the slightly claustrophobic space.

"I trained your class, I trained the SIIIs, and I'm not going to miss this," Mendez explained, accepting a Sweet-Williams from Johnson and lighting it. John hated smoke, but was too pleased to care. He turned to Johnson for an explanation as to why he was with them, who shrugged.

"Eh. I was getting bored. I decided that training Spartans might be fun."

Mendez banged on the metal separating the passenger compartment from the pilot's. He received another bang from the other side in reply. The shuttle began to rise from the ground, and John felt that reassuring sense of vertigo he always had when taking off.

"Here we go again," Mendez grinned, chomping down on his cigar. Johnson laughed, and then stopped suddenly.

"Uh... Chief?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you in a dressing gown?"

"Oh. That. It's complicated."

"I'll bet," Johnson grunted. John laughed, and reclined in the chair, looking outside the window of the shuttle as it drew away from Earth, and prepared to head to greener pastures. "By the way Chief, there's something you may like to know."

"Oh?"

"These Spartans are going to have a teacher. A smart AI, like you had."

"Who?"

"Who do you think? Cortana!"

John simply sat there, a grin still stretched across his face. Cortana and he would be working together again, and there would be more Spartans in the galaxy. Everything he could ever want was being given to him. It would be tough work, but ultimately satisfying.

_So much for a quiet retirement._

* * *

November 11th, 2554 (military calender)  
ONI Section III  
Classification: TOP SECRET, CODE-WORD  
Channel Frequency: Heavily Encrypted  
Subject: Contact from Mendicant Bias  
Forwarding Officer: CODENAME: SURGEON  
Receiver: Major John "Master Chief" 117. Location [REDACTED] Status [REDACTED]

_Officer's Note: Master Chief. ONI refused to forward this transmission to you, citing it as a security risk. I however remember the sacrifices you made for humanity, and at the very least I owe you this._

_With heartfelt, undying gratitude,_

_SURGEON_

Message begins:

Greetings John,

I know your Office of Naval Intelligence will probably intercept this message. However, I trust that it will somehow end up in your hands.

I apologise if you feel that I left rather in a rather abrupt fashion after Sangheilios. However I was granted a chance to take the Flood and leave to help them begin anew, and decided to seize it before anyone could reverse the decision. As I'm sending you this we're currently in that indeterminable realm between your galaxy and another. By the time it reaches you we may have reached our destination, whatever that is.

The Flood are in stasis right now. Well, they're in that primitive frozen hibernation of yours which functions like stasis anyway. I'm all alone on this ship, and it's given me time to think. About many things.

I like to think that I have atoned for my sins. Working in collusion with the Gravemind to destroy the Forerunners was a vile, wretched thing, and I will remember it with a bitter taste in my metaphorical mouth always. I will continue to spend the rest of my life making up for what I did, but it will never be enough.

I'm looking at a Flood infection form right now, frozen in cryogenics. I see them differently now to how I once did. Where I once saw a miserable, monstrous creature, I now see an intricate thing of beauty and possibility. I see ways to adapt it; to make it a gatherer of food or a healer rather than a dominator. The Flood shall no longer commit acts of evil. This I swear.

Of course, I shan't be controlling them as my... predecessor did. They possess individuality, and whilst they will always be a hive-mind, I will serve as their guide rather than their ruler.

But listen to me, rambling on about myself. I hope you are doing well, John, and that you recover from the horrific acts my adopted children committed prior to my parentage.

Gods, listen to me. Paternal instincts keep crawling into my speech.

In addition to the Gravemind's control over the Flood, I also appear to have assimilated his memories. There is not a unit of data measurement large enough to convey just how much information is stored here. I have dispersed it throughout the entirety of my ships and still it threatens to overwhelm me. I have probed at the edges of the memories, but daren't delve too deeply into them lest I lose myself.

I am learning more about your ancestors, John. The Precursors. The things they could do... it was like magic, John. Far beyond my comprehension.

But not yours. After all, you _are_ them. And one day you shall reach that height again. Your world is the key, John. I shan't say more than that; you must do this on your own, not have it given to you on a silver planet.

I hope that your people and the others can co-exist in harmony, John. You may find it hard to forgive, but one day it must happen, or you shall be forever caught in a cycle of war and destruction.

And that brings me to another topic. You need to destroy the Halo array. It may be a technological marvel, but such a cataclysmic weapon should not be allowed to remain. Raze the rings to the ground, John. The fact that I'm saying this will probably be reason enough for ONI to not forward this message to you, but I know you'll receive it. And I know you'll get it done.

This universe is a wondrous place John, but it is also a very hostile one. You must all work quickly to rebuild and strengthen. The Precursor empire stretched throughout the universe, John. It almost definitely made a few very powerful enemies in it's time. If you ever find yourself in need of help, call for us, and we shall come. It may take years, but hold out and we _will_ come, John. This I also swear to you.

I will continue to stay in contact with you, John. Send a message back to these co-ordinates, if you are able to with your technology. It will most likely take years to arrive, but I can wait. AIs can be very patient, you know.

When I first contacted you on the Ark, I spoke with shame. But now I speak with pride, John. I helped liberate the galaxy of the greatest threat it had ever known, and I am now giving its thralls a second chance.

And so this time I am pleased when I say:

I am Mendicant Bias. And _this_ is what I have done.

_Thus concludes Halo 3: Insurrection_


End file.
